


Mating Games Round 2 Challenge 5: Canon AU/Divergence

by Anonymous



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: AU, D/s, Dark, F/F, F/M, M/M, Multi, Post-Canon, Pre-Canon, Rimming, Roleplay, Voyeurism, attempted suicide, canon AU, dub-con, gangbangs
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-07
Updated: 2014-06-07
Packaged: 2018-02-03 18:26:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 8
Words: 101,790
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1754097
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>These are the entries for week five, round two of the Mating Games pornathon challenge on LJ.</p><p>For details on what this challenge is: <a href="http://mating-games.livejournal.com/14113.html">FAQ on LJ</a></p><p>If you'd like to vote for any of these, you are welcome to even if you aren't a participant in this challenge. You can read how to vote and cast your votes here: <a href="http://mating-games.livejournal.com/19935.html">Voting Post!</a></p><p>In this challenge, teams are already set so we aren't taking any new writers/artists, but you are welcome to participate as a reader/voter.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Group A (with warnings)

1.  
 **Warnings:** Underage, Non-con, Blood Play  
 **Pairing:** Peter/Stiles  
 **Notes:** 1.11 Jackson finds Peter outside the formal in the woods, not Chris, and is bitten by him. Instead of clawing Lydia, Peter bites her as well. Stiles finds them on the field moments after Lydia is bitten.

Stiles’ hands took as he knelt by Lydia, her dress bloodied and soiled. Above him, Peter stood stoically with an arched eyebrow.

“What have you done?” Stiles agonized as he touched Lydia’s face.

“I’ve built my pack,” Peter said, simply. “And I’m not through yet.” Stiles flinched as Peter put a claw beneath his chin, urging him to his feet. Stiles scrambled, the feel of blood dripping down his neck making his heart rate skyrocket.

“Jackson accepted me as his alpha,” Peter said with a grin. “I’m sure once Lydia realizes her new powers, she will do the same.”

“Why are you doing this?” Stiles asked. Peter tilted his head as he pressed a clawed thumb against Stiles’ lower lip, holding onto Stiles’ chin. Stiles’ entire body shook beneath Peter’s grasp.

“Instinct,” Peter said as he leaned forward, whispering into Stiles’ ear. “I need a pack. If you’re already friends, the bond will be stronger. Scott will yield to me, Derek too.”

“What makes you think that?” Stiles asked, looking down at Lydia’s body. “Jackson and Lydia--”

“Aren’t the only ones I plan on turning,” Peter smirked as he forced his thumb into Stiles’ mouth. Stiles whimpered as the sharp claw pressed against his tongue, forcing him back to his knees. “With you by my side, Scott will bow down before me.” Stiles tried to protest, but couldn’t speak as Peter shredded his formal shirt. It fell, tattered, to the ground, the cool winter air giving Stiles goosebumps, making his nipples hard.

“You would make a powerful werewolf, Stiles,” Peter said, his voice smooth. “Your mind would no longer be addled, you’d no longer need to pop those pills to keep your train of thought from straying.”

Stiles gasped when Peter finally took his thumb from Stiles’ mouth.

“No,” Stiles said vehemently. Peter pouted, tilting his head as he grasped the back of his neck, shoving Stiles’ face against his crotch.

“Pity,” Peter said. “Because I’m going to turn you anyways.” Stiles watched as Peter unzipped his pants, showing Stiles his hard, uncut cock, already dripping precome. “You’ll be mine, marked as my mate. No one will touch you.” Peter thrust forward, pressing his cock against Stiles’ mouth, forcing it down Stiles’ throat as his claws dug into Stiles’ neck. As tears trailed down Stiles’ cheeks, Peter wiped at them with his fingers. He licked them clean as he fucked into Stiles’ mouth.

“Your mouth is mine to be used,” Peter hissed. Stiles shut his eyes as he held onto Peter’s thighs, seeking something to hold onto.

Stiles gasped for air as Peter pulled back. He pushed Stiles onto the ground, onto his back. He tried to get away, clawing at the ground around him as Peter straddled him, pinning him to the ground. He held Stiles’ hands above his head with one hand, his claws digging into Stiles’ wrists. Grinning, Peter looked down at him.  
“I enjoy your struggling, Stiles.” Peter bent over, biting down on Stiles’ neck, breaking the skin. Stiles screamed as he thrashed, sobbing from the pain. Peter, his mouth bloody, wrapped his other hand around Stiles’ throat as he spread Stiles’ legs with his knees. Stiles choked, his mouth open wide as tears streamed down his face. “You’ll look so beautiful when I’m through with you.”

Stiles shut his eyes as he heard the rip of his pants after Peter let go of his throat. Peter thrust against him as he bent down, kissing Stiles on the lips, forcing his bloody tongue into Stiles’ mouth. The taste of blood made Stiles gag as Peter rut against him. Peter smeared Stiles’ blood down his chest as he came, mixing them both together before licking them up. Stiles sobbed as Peter kissed him again.

“You’re mine, now.”

 

\-------------------------

2  
 **Warnings:** none  
 **Pairing:** Jackson/Danny  
When Danny was seven, his dad got a job offer in California that he ultimately turned down after talking it over with Danny's grandparents and his fifty million aunties and uncles. Life was just too good in Maui, there would just be too many people to miss, and so it was settled that they wouldn't move. It was a non-event in Danny's life, one he wasn't consulted for, just something he heard talked about at the dinner table a few times and then promptly forgot.

The day Danny shipped off to study at the University of Hawaii at Manoa was not a non-event. There were tears and hugging and big dinners for a week at various aunties' houses, and when his parents finally drove away and left him in his dorm, Danny realized that it was the first time in his life that he wouldn't be surrounded by the million-voice chorus of his family.

He meets a guy in his intro to psych class called Jackson Whittemore. Actually, he meets him on the beach at Waikiki where he teaches surfing part time to help pay for tuition. He assumes Jackson's a tourist because he's way too pale to live in Hawaii, and he teaches him how to paddle out. He's not very good at getting up on the board, yet, but Danny promises him he'll get the hang of it soon enough with his excellent guidance. He might have been flirting a little bit. It isn't until the next class, when he sees Jackson's impossibly chiseled face sitting near the front, that he realizes they're classmates.

He walks over after class, asks if he wants to grab lunch. They go get some loco moco at a food truck and Danny finds out that Jackson's from California. He still looks a bit too pale for that, and Jackson says, "Not the hot part you're thinking of. Further north. With woods and shit."

"And what brings you to UH?"

"The excellent business program," he deadpans, and it takes a second for Danny to catch that he's joking because UH does actually have an excellent business program, thank you very much.

"I just needed to get away from all the people I grew up with," he clarifies after a while. "What better way to get away than crossing the ocean and landing in paradise?"

He sounds like every dumb jock blond tourist surf rat who's ever paid Danny too little an hour to not give a shit about what it really means to feel the ocean, and Danny tells him that right before Jackson grabs him by the chin and presses their mouths together.

They have a lot of sex.

Danny luckily has a single dorm, but they don't fuck there often because Jackson is picky about how small and uncomfortable the bed is. Jackson's parents are, predictably, rich as hell and they've got Jackson set up in a nice apartment off campus, so mostly they fuck there unless Danny needs to be on campus for an early morning class. They fuck on basically every horizontal surface there, and some vertical ones.

Months pass. At some point, Danny thinks their honeymoon period should have worn off and they should stop feeling the need to fuck like rabbits twice, three times a day. It doesn't wear off.

Sometime before summer holidays, they finally come up for air and Danny says, "Christ, where have you been all my life?"

"In Beacon Hills," Jackson says, in his deadpan.

"You wouldn't have liked me if we'd be sooner," he follows up, the way he always follows up a deadpan joke with something genuine. "I was a major dick."

"You still are," Danny points out.

"No, but—" he pauses to kiss Danny again and his tongue presses between Danny's teeth like it belongs there— "all this crazy shit went down. It wasn't a good scene."

"You had to get away."

"I did," he confirms solemnly. "I'm glad you waited to meet me, post-shit."

Jackson comes clean about what he meant by crazy shit on the next full moon.

It should disturb Danny that pretty much immediately after that bombshell, they fuck outside on the beach, under the moonlight, after Jackson's shifted back to human form because Danny's kinky but not _that_ kinky. It should disturb him, but it doesn't really.

Danny invites Jackson to spend the summer back home with him and his parents and his fifty million aunties and uncles on Maui.

 

\-------------------------

3  
 **Warnings:** None  
 **Pairing:** Stiles/Isaac  
 **Notes:** what if Isaac went to Stiles, instead of Scott, that raining night.

 

Stiles’s life turned _weirder_ the night Isaac stood in his doorway, dripping wet from the rain outside.

“Can you even be more of a cliche?” Stiles tapped his math book, watching the floor get wetter.

“I need a place to stay, and I thought…”

“Here? Why not where you _were_ staying?”

“I...I can’t. Derek, he’s...got a lot going on. And Scott...I just don’t want them fighting.”

Stiles pushed his homework off his lap. “Scott and I are a package deal. If you have issues with him-”

“No,” Isaac shook his head. “You are not as hard on Derek. Scott--he and Derek butt heads and...”

“I get it dude.” Stiles sighed. “Come on, let’s get you dried off, and I’ll call my dad. But no wolfy stuff in the house. My dad’s in the dark, and I’d like to keep it that way.” Stiles moved past Isaac, grabbing a dry towel from the hall closet.

 

The Sheriff took one look at Isaac, sleeping on the couch, and told Stiles he expected Isaac to follow the same rules about house and school work.

And from then on, the Stilinski household had three.

Stiles didn’t know if it was a werewolf thing, or an Isaac thing, but living with Isaac was … odd.

 

Like his obsession with taking Stiles’s clothes.

“Dude, is Isaac wearing your shirt?” Scott nodded over to where Isaac sat in class.

Stiles looked over. Sure enough, Isaac was wearing his shirt. Stiles just shook his head.

Glancing back at Scott, Stiles whispered, “Is this a normal wolf thing? It’s, like, the third time this week.”

Scott’s eyes slid over to Isaac, narrowing. Isaac just gave them both a half smirk, running his hand over the cotton sleeve of the pilfered shirt.

 

Then there was the thing with food. Stiles couldn’t figure out if Isaac has a canine instinct to steal food, or if he was just a dick, but Stiles’s afternoon snack always turned into a game of tug of war.

“Dude, make your own grilled cheese!” Stiles tried to grab the plate Isaac held out of reach.

“But I like the way you make them better.”

Stiles grabbed the front of Isaac’s shirt, trying to get better leverage. “Don’t care. Gimme!” Stiles went from yanking on Isaac to a mouth full of hot cheese sandwich in seconds, thanks to werewolf speed.

Snatching the rest of the sandwich out of Isaac’s hand, Stiles stepped away from Isaac and headed up stairs, mumbling “asshole” around his food.

 

And then there were the nights he would crawl into Stiles bed, shaking. Stiles wouldn’t say anything those nights, just roll toward Isaac and rub soothing circles on his back. Stiles would always wake the next morning warm with their fingers entangled.

 

And then there was the werewolf love for slamming Stiles into walls. It didn’t take long before Stiles picked out the bad-mouthing-Derek to slammed-into-wall connection.

But Stiles really put his foot down when those occurrences became more frequent. Or Isaac would hold him there longer.

“Okay, what gives? Is this, like, _Intimidation 101_? Did you learn the toss-the-human-into-the-wall trick in werewolf basic boot camp?

“No.” Isaac let his eyes flash yellow, and his teeth slide past his upper lip. “We have _other_ ways.”

“You know you slur around your fangs?”

Isaac blinked twice, mouth dropped in shock. “Why are you not afraid?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about. You have your claws popped out, and me backed into a corner.”

“Your scent hasn't changed.”

Stiles put his hands on Isaac’s shoulders, trying to push him off. “Don’t smell me dude. That’s got to be a violation of privacy.”

Isaac moved one hand to Stiles hip, leaning in and pinning him down. Stiles felt Isaac work a thigh in between his legs and push up, causing Stiles to gasp.

“No. I think you like it.” Isaac’s voice was deep and husky as he rocked his thigh slowly.

Stiles curled his fingers, holding on. “Isaac, I swear to God, if you make me come in my jeans, in the hallway, I am putting wolfsbane in your breakfast.

Isaac pulled one of Stiles’s hands off his shoulder, licking the pulse point on the wrist before stepping back, pulling Stiles toward his room. “No, not on a wall.”

Isaac might be a pushy bastard, but Stiles could get use to it.

 

\-------------------------

4  
 **Warnings:** none  
 **Pairing:** Scott/Isaac

“But it’s not just someone to hold you under. It needs to be someone who can pull you back, someone that has a strong connection to you, a kind of emotional tether.”

Scott looked over at Allison.

“Lydia, you go with Allison. Stiles with me. And Isaac will be your anchor Scott.”

Scott thought about protesting, but when he looked over at Isaac he thought it made a certain kind of sense.

 

~*~

Scott was lost in the woods.

Being back in that night after he was first bit was too much for him. He could feel the fear and confusion when he saw the wolf. He stumbled further into the woods.

All of a sudden he heard something growling. He turned around slowly. He couldn’t see anything. Scott peered into the darkness and began to tremble violently, as he heard the growling start again.

Soon, Scott saw a horrible pair of red eyes coming closer and closer. The wolf wasn’t here to bite him. It was here to finish the job this time. Scott didn’t know what to do, as the wolf came closer and closer. He dropped to the ground and covered his head.

But nothing happened.

Until he felt a strong pair of hands grip him.

He could vaguely hear someone calling his name, but he refused to look up.

SCOTT!

The voice’s thundering power instantly had Scott looking up.

Isaac was staring back at him. Scott didn’t know how it was possible.

Isaac looked almost angelic bathed in the moonlight.

“Scott, you need to snap out of this. We need you and time is running out.”

Scott blinked at him in confusion.

“Please, come back to us...Come back to me.” Isaac searched his face with his eyes before he leaned forward and pressed his lips gently to Scott’s.

Scott gasped as he suddenly felt the freezing water surrounding him and broke through to the surface.

~*~

It had all worked out. Somehow they had managed to save everyone, and no one died - no one they cared about anyway.

Scott didn’t even know what to think about being an Alpha now. Part of him, couldn’t even wrap his head around it. He was far more preoccupied with what happened after he’d gone under the ice.

He turned his head, and Isaac was sitting in the backseat of the car with his head down. He looked lost in thought. He had been refusing to make eye contact with Scott all night and he didn’t understand why.

When they got home, Isaac immediately excused himself and shut himself in his room.

Scott trudged upstairs a bit later. He looked over towards Isaac’s room.

He thought about leaving it alone, they’d all had an epically long night, but he couldn’t stop thinking of what happened after he “died.” He couldn’t stop thinking about how Isaac brought him back.

Soon he found himself in Isaac’s room, staring at a startled Isaac. “Come back to us...Come back to me.”

Isaac wrinkled his brow.

“That’s what you said to me when I was in the woods. And then you kissed me.”

Isaac swallowed thickly.

“Did-Did that really happen?”

Isaac took a deep breath and took so long to answer, Scott wasn’t sure if he was going to say anything.

“Stiles and Allison had come back and you hadn’t. I was your tether and I needed to bring you back. Deaton found a way for me to connect with you.”

Scott walked toward him slowly. “But why - why did you kiss me?”

Isaac looked down and wrung his hands.

Scott stopped until he could feel Isaac’s nervous breath on his face. “Isaac?” Scott reached out tentatively and touched Isaac’s cheek.

Isaac’s eyes fluttered closed and his lips parted.

Scott’s eyes were drawn to that mouth. He leaned forward slowly and placed a gentle kiss on Isaac’s mouth.

It took a few seconds, but Isaac finally kissed him back.

Scott gently drew Isaac’s bottom lip into his mouth and carded his fingers in Isaac’s hair as he pressed in closer to him. He could feel Isaac’s hardness against him, as his own pants became tighter.

Scott reached out and cupped Isaac’s erection, as he deepened the kiss.

Isaac moaned into his mouth.

Scott pulled back slowly and ran his thumb across the bottom of Isaac’s lip, and Isaac’s eyes opened halfway.

“Tell me.” Scott whispered.

Isaac chased Scott’s mouth, but Scott pulled away.

“Tell me.”

“You’re my anchor and I’m yours.”

Scott nestled his head against Isaac’s neck and breathed in deeply. “You’re mine?”

Isaac nodded. “I’m yours.”

 

\-------------------------

5  
 **Warnings:** Blood kink. Minor background character death.  
 **Pairing:** Talia Hale/Chris Argent  
 **Notes:** pre-canon AU. Goes AU after Deucalion is blinded by Gerard.

She's beautiful. Sitting in the middle of the forest, nude, her hair spilling over her back in waves. Just looking at her is almost enough to make him forget what he's doing here. Almost enough to forget his father tried to kill this woman, her entire family, and did kill her husband years ago.

Almost enough to forget why he's here; of his own free will, but not by his own choosing. The tradition binding him here is older than the Code and forgotten by too many (his own father among them). Lives of this woman's pack were taken needlessly, violation of Code and treaty both, and balance must be restored.

It might be the only thing that prevents an all out war. If Talia Hale turns on them, there'll be no stopping it.

"You've decided?"

"You know I have."

Talia stands, unembarrassed, and turns to look at him. "Of course." She looks almost sympathetic as she adds, in gentler tones, "However, I still need to hear you say it."

It's almost a mercy Victoria died in the fighting after Gerard's attack on the Alphas. She would never forgive him for making this choice.

"Yes." He takes a breath before committing. "Yes, I agree to the marriage and all it entails."

She tips her head. "And if your daughter, down the line, chooses the Bite?"

"It'll be her choice as much as this was mine."

Talia's smile is resigned. He can understand. She'll be marrying an Argent. Taking him as mate. There will be repercussions for her that he can't even begin to imagine.

Assuming, of course, he survives the wedding.

She holds out her hand and his eyebrows rise. "Shouldn't the others--"

Her lips curve up, teasing, "Do you really believe all the stories you tell about us?"

Chris manages to smile, feeling his cheeks heat. "I suppose not."

"The mark will be proof enough."

When he takes her hand, she steps closer and kisses him. It's chaste, at first, giving him time he doesn't need. He's given his word and he'll see this through. He takes the risk of sliding his free hand into her hair, grabbing the silky length of it, and she makes a soft noise of approval.

Emboldened, he takes the opportunity and deepens the kiss. She tastes sweet, like the coffee she had before her morning run, and he chases the taste. She lets his hand go, reaching between them. His clothes fall quick casualty to claws and he shivers as she presses him to the forest floor.

He can't help staring as she rises over him to settle on his thighs. He wants her. It's a betrayal to think it, but he does. She looks down at him and smiles. "It won't be all bad, you know," she says, voice soft, the rasp pleasant. "You wouldn't be the first to change his mind about us."

"I already have," he admits. "You let us live."

"I don't kill children," she replies, leaning over him. Her breasts are tempting and he cups them. She bites her lip when he thumbs a nipple so he does it again. "And I won't kill you."

"Assuming I survive the Bite."

Talia kisses him, a hint of fang in it, and he's the one growling this time. His hips rock up, chasing the heat of her, and she laughs into the kiss. "You'll survive," she says, rising up to give him what he's all but begging for.

He fucks up hard, unable to stop himself, and her eyes go red.

"You're stubborn," she says, fangs fully extended, "Stubborn counts for a lot."

Chris comes when she bites into him, going deep. He buries his hands in her hair again, holding her against his neck, and rolling them. She lets him and the pain is a sharp sweetness when he fucks into her, the motion pushing him into her mouth.

The noise she makes is both nothing and everything human all at once and he wants to hear it again and again.

He's bleeding when she lets him go, but that doesn't stop him from sliding down to put his mouth on her. She cries out as she comes, the sound echoing through the woods around them, every werewolf for miles able to hear it.

Every werewolf for miles will know he's been marked and claimed by Talia Hale.

Her lips are red with his blood. He kisses her anyway.

He's supposed to regret this.

He doesn't think he will.

 

\-------------------------

6  
 **Warnings:** gangbang  
 **Pairing:** Stiles/Boyd, Stiles/Cora, Stiles/Lydia, Stiles/Isaac, (hints of) Stiles/Derek  
 **Notes:** Remember when Stiles yelled out in the locker room that someone needed to sex him up because his virginity was a threat to his life? Well, Isaac heard him and brought the problem before his Alpha...

 

"He propositioned the _entire locker room_?" Derek's growl was sub-vocal, his eyes flashing an angry red. He turned to Boyd and Erica, who still wouldn't meet his gaze after their long months away. "Bring Stiles to me."

\--

Stiles fell out of his computer chair when his window opened, hands covering his dick as his headphones ripped free, blasting loud moans through the room. Twisting around wildly, he looked up to see Boyd and Erica standing inside his bedroom, leather jackets stretched tight over muscular bodies.

"Heeey. Guys. Um. Haha, what are you doing? Put me down!"

\--

"Are you fucking with me right now?"

The unfortunate wording made Cora bark out a laugh. "Not yet, but apparently we're gonna." Displeasure whipped across the room, making her flinch from Derek's anger.

"You're going around town offering people your virginity, Stiles." The _want_ that filled Derek's words made Cora's nipples tighten and her thighs clench against a sudden, aching need. "If you weren't in danger before, you very likely are _now_. Ethan and Aiden are in school with you. What if they heard you? Your only protection is to be claimed by pack."

\--

" _Your_ pack." Stiles crossed his arms over his chest, raising his eyebrows at Derek, who stared back evenly, though his emotions were ripe in the air. _Want, need, satisfaction, possession._ All overlaid by the stench of a horny teenaged boy who'd apparently been primed to masturbate himself blind when Boyd and Erica had collected him. "I'm not a part of your pack. I'm Scott's pack."

"But Scott turned you down, didn't he?" Isaac said, letting the words hang in the air. "I heard you in the locker room. You begged him, told him the risk. And he ignored you. We…" Taking a chance that Derek wouldn't rip his throat out, Isaac stepped forward, winding one arm around Stiles from behind, dragging his palm up the warm skin of his belly. "We just want to keep you safe. You're too important to… us," he whispered, meeting Derek's eyes and watching them flash again.

The catch of Stiles' breath and sudden uptick in his heartbeat was overloud in the quiet room.

\--

"What about you?"

There was no mistaking who Stiles was talking to, or the surge of excitement that poured into the air when Derek stepped forward, getting in Stiles' space. One hand curved around the back of Stiles' neck, squeezing gently before releasing him.

"You're sixteen."

The mingled guilt and discontent that wafted from Derek was strong enough to make Erica choke, but she understood. They all did, in their own ways. Sixteen had been a bad year for Derek.

For all of them, really.

Erica let her hips swing as she stalked toward Stiles, a wicked smile curving her red, red lips. She knew what she looked like, enjoyed the way it made his blood race in his veins. Dragging one perfectly manicured nail along the curve of Stiles' ear, she grinned at Derek. "Yeah, but he's a hot piece of jailbait, am I right?"

Derek's jealousy nearly knocked her over, but she just tossed her head and laughed, feeling a bit of her old spirit returning.

 

\--

As Boyd slid into Stiles' ass, the _click_ of that connection with his Alpha roared to life and he stared up at Derek, who was sitting in his chair, claws digging trenches into his thighs as his muscles leapt and his dick twitched, filling the air with enough pheromones to have them all panting through their mouths as they fought the instinct to _take_.

The others were losing control, claws sliding from Cora's fingers as she arched her back, legs splayed wide with Stiles' face buried between them, the wet sounds matching her shattered breaths. Isaac and Erica bit and snapped at each other, Erica ready to go again after riding Stiles to orgasm once already.

No part of Stiles was going to be a virgin after tonight, Boyd noted, snapping his hips forward just to hear a low groan rumble from Derek.

\--

When Isaac stumbled back, his wet cock sliding from Stiles' reddened mouth, Derek was slumped, legs splayed, eyes slitted nearly closed. "Bring him to me," he rasped.

Stiles was settled gently in his lap, overworked body marked in a thousand different ways. He whimpered when his ass rubbed over the denim covering Derek's thighs.

"Shh," Derek murmured in his ear, smoothing back his sweaty hair. "You're safe now."

 

\-------------------------

7

 **Warning:** None

 **Pairing:** Scott/Stiles

 **Notes:** When Caitlin asked Stiles if he liked boys, he said yes.

They hug all the time, and Stiles has been in Scott's bed before. Not naked though, the naked thing is new, and exhilarating because he's never been naked with another person.

"You're sure?" Scott asks. His hand is hot, a little clammy, pressed against Stiles' back. He's not hard, but that's okay.

Stiles _is_ hard, feels like he's harder than he's ever been. He nods against Scott's shoulder. "I trust you."

He's still processing everything that happened while the nogitsune was in him, and this is one of them. Like he's making up for years of not paying attention, now he can't stop thinking about other guys, about hard bodies and hard dicks, about fucking and being fucked.

It's the latter he needs to explore, knows if it doesn't happen in a controlled way, he'll probably be drunk, and with a stranger.

Stiles still can't believe Scott said yes. Even now, as Scott slides his fingers into the crack of Stiles' ass, there's no hesitation.

Stiles shivers as his dick twitches and leaks precome onto Scott's hip. "I can get myself ready," he murmurs into Scott's throat. "If you don't want to—"

"Let me," Scott says. He's calm and relaxed as he pushes Stiles onto his stomach and drags a hand over his ass, thumb spreading his cheeks a little.

Scott didn't have an epiphany like Stiles has. Scott likes girls, just girls, so Stiles doesn't expect a lot from him, figures he'll get hard when he needs to and not before, will do only what needs to be done.

So when Scott moves over him and down his body, spreads him with his thumbs and licks over his hole, Stiles gasps. "You don't have to—"

"I want to." There's a hint of surprise in Scott's voice. "Is this okay?"

"Hnnngh, yeah." Stiles humps the mattress and presses back as Scott licks into him, makes him slick and wet and pliant before pushing a finger deep inside.

When Scott works up to three, Stiles comes, thrashing and crying out.

"God, _Stiles_ ," Scott says, his voice cracking. He pulls Stiles up onto his hands and knees, hugs him from behind, leaving kisses and gentle bites down his neck and shoulder. "Do you still want this?"

"You're hard," Stiles says. "Do you?"

"Yeah." Scott's hips move as he rocks against Stiles' ass. "I love you, man."

"Love you, too," Stiles says, secure in the knowledge this isn't about hearts and flowers. Scott is his best friend, he trusts him more than anyone and this doesn't feel weird or wrong at all.

There's a minimum of fumbling, then Scott is pushing inside, slick and bare. Stiles grunts through the initial stretch, the burning sting of being breached by something larger than he's taken before. There's an answering groan as Scott slowly sinks all the way inside and stills.

Scott's cock is a hot, heavy ache, deep inside. Stiles looks over his shoulder, meets Scott's eyes. They're connected in the most intimate way possible and they don't need words. Stiles reaches back, puts his hand on the back of Scott's neck and sighs as Scott starts to move.

They breathe each other's breath as Scott moves his hips in rolling thrusts. A flush spreads over Stiles' skin, until it feels as if every inch of him is on fire. He pushes back for more.

Scott grips Stiles' hips hard, and it's perfect. He pulls back, thrusts in deep. "I'm close," he groans. "Really, really close, Stiles."

Stiles reaches for his dick. "Yeah. Come on, Scotty."

Scott grunts as he bends to press his cheek against Stiles' back. He spreads his hand over Stiles' heart and moans as he starts to come.

Stiles can feel it, the pulse deep inside as Scott fills him. Scott pulls out, and come drips down the inside of Stiles' thigh when he pushes back in.

Stiles comes again with Scott slowly softening inside him.

"You're gonna smell like me for days," Scott says when they're tangled in the covers and each other's limbs. "The pack will know. They won't understand."

Stiles turns his head. Scott's lips are half an inch from his own, and he's content to close his eyes and just feel Scott's breath on his face. "I don't care. Do you?"

Scott's mouth comes down on Stiles' cheek, and his lips stretch into a smile. "No. They know you're important to me. That's all that matters."

\-------------------------

8  
 **Warnings:** None  
 **Pairing:** Chris Argent/Victoria Argent  
 **Notes:**

The knife clatters to the floor. He can’t do it.

And then it’s too late – the moonlight streams through the window and she is rising, eyes growing gold and heavy.

He knows he should run, he should pick up the knife, he should – there’s a newly-turned werewolf in his house, his daughter is down the hall and this can only end in so much blood –

Victoria turns and her eyes gleam in the moonlight. He notes her impeccable eyebrows are gone, her ears now pointed and hairy – and her mouth is full of fangs.

“Christopher.” She inhales, and he knows she is scenting him.

She surges forward and he doesn’t get out of the way in time, the fact that this is _Victoria_ keeping him rooted on the spot.

He’s pinned down expertly and he knows he can’t get out of her grip, not with her now enhanced strength. He braces himself for the blow that never comes – instead their eyes meet, blue on amber.

The kiss is full of fangs and tongue and he tastes blood and he tastes _Victoria_ ; tastes the iron control she’s always embodied and which has not lost to the wolf howling inside her. Chris can’t help it, he groans into the kiss and what little give there is has him scrabbling to take hold of her hips as she straddles him. She grinds down on him, feral and gorgeous and Chris is harder than he’s ever been in his life.

Victoria pulls back and licks her lips, her eyes wide and luminous. It should be unsettling, should horrify him to see the wolf in them but he can’t help but stare in wonder as the ridges slowly melt away, leaving behind the golden glow and a hint of fang. She is achingly beautiful, more so than she’s ever been.

“Vicky…” he whispers, his voice full of awe.

“Shut up, Chris.”

When her teeth latch onto his neck, it’s to bruise and mark, not to tear. The noise Chris makes deep in his throat is more animal than her answering moan, and when his hands come up to her hips he knows she would bruise if she - He pushes the thought from his mind and surges up to meet her, his rough human hands rending the blue silk of her top as his mouth seeks out her breasts. She’s even more responsive than usual when his lips latch onto her puffy nipple, a subvocal growl vibrating through them both.

He hisses, head thrown back when she yanks open his pants, sending the buttons flying. Even with the cotton of his boxers between him and the hand palming him, he can feel the inhuman heat in her touch as she gets rid of both of their underwear, the hint of claws instead of her perfect manicure tantalizing.

There’s more than a hint of claws when she sinks down on him, hot and wet with arousal. Chris feels like he can’t breathe, like he’s sixteen again and pushing inside her body for the first time. He can smell the blood beading on his arms through his torn shirt but he doesn’t care, his eyes transfixed on the arch of his wife’s body as she throws her head back and bites back a howl.

She’s a werewolf in the house of hunters and Chris has never loved her more than he does right now, when it’s evident that she’s conquered the beast within, that she’s still _Victoria._

She rides him long and hard, and he nearly blacks out when he comes crying out her name.

Victoria ends up draped over his heaving chest, loosely held in the circle of his arms when she makes a contemplative noise. “I think it’s time Beacon Hills had a _competent_ alpha.”

 

\-------------------------

9  
 **Warnings:** Underage  
 **Pairing:** Stiles/Derek  
 **Notes:** Derek lets Scott kill Peter at the end of S1.

(Scott slashes Peter's throat and Stiles heaves. When he turns around and his eyes flash red in the darkness, he looks down at his hands covered in blood and Derek feels sorry for him.)

 

Scott's reticent about accepting his help at first, but he ultimately does and gets better, learns control faster than Derek would have expected, anchors himself and pushes himself, gets results.

Him and Derek aren't much like pack, but he can tell Scott's making an effort, so he does too. It's stilted and slow going, but it's progress.

 

Stiles keeps being a little shit, infuriating and getting on Derek's nerves until he has to tell him to _shut up_ , because he gets his blood running hot and fast and dangerously intense.

One day when they are on Stiles's room, getting in each other's faces, Stiles pushes back, looks down at Derek's lips, breathes out _make me_ , smelling like sweat and horny teenager, and Derek should know better, shouldn't give into this because Stiles has written _trouble_ all over his gangly body, but Stiles' mouth is right there, parted, lush and obscene and Derek can't even recall what they'd been arguing about (Scott's training regime? Expanding the pack?), can only feel himself _needing_ to give Stiles what he's clearly _aching_ for.

“I'm gonna _teach you some manners_ ,” he spits out before pushing Stiles against the wall and going in for a bruising kiss.

Stiles is all eagerness and fingers digging into Derek's scalp as he clumsily pokes at Derek's lips with his tongue, all obvious inexperience that makes Derek feel _filthy_ , like he's robbing Stiles of some sort of innocence.

The feeling only lasts as long as it takes Stiles to grab at his ass to pull him flush against his body so he can grind boyishly against him, hard already.

Derek moans against Stiles' lips, closes his eyes as he feels Stiles' hard, clothed dick drag against his hip, needy, and he pulls away from Stiles' wanting mouth so he can bite at his neck hard enough to make Stiles' hips stutter.

“Come on,” Stiles says then, and he sounds wrecked and horny and needy, and like he will climb all over Derek at any moment, like he's ready to blow his load right there in his pants, “come _on_ , weren't you gonna teach me some manners, big guy?”

Derek groans at the way Stiles' voice has gone raw and dirty, low enough to be almost a deep rumble, he bites hard at Stiles neck again, and Stiles' hands go up his back to _claw_ at him, viciously.

Derek gets his hand into Stiles' pants, doesn't bother with finesse or teasing as he unbuttons and unzips him.

As soon as his fingers are a loose circle around Stiles' dick, Stiles is whimpering, touching him all over, hips jerking. He pulls once, twice, then he goes up to the tip, rubs his fingers on the slit and feels them get wet.

“I'm going to make you come,” he says, right next to Stiles' ear, “fast and hard. And then I'm going to put you on your knees and I'm going to _shut you up_.”

Stiles leaks all over his hand, coats his fingers, and Derek keeps jerking him off, fast and constant.

“Oh, yeah?” Stiles chokes out, “how are you gonna do that, buddy?”

“I'm gonna _put your mouth to better use_ ,” Derek tells him, letting his lips trail the lob of Stiles' ear as he presses himself against Stiles, lets him feel how hard he is inside his pants, “gonna teach you some discipline, gonna hold you still and _fuck your mouth_ until your lips feel loose and raw and you're too tired to talk back.”

Stiles hisses then, comes all over his hand, messy and sudden, faster than Derek would have expected. It makes his dick ache between his legs, makes him ache to come too.

Derek only has enough time to get his hand out of Stiles' pants before he's dropping to his knees like a ragdoll, looking up at Derek through his lashes, eyes like liquid amber, lips red and glistening, and pawing at his belt.

“C'mon,” he says, and he manages to sound _smug_ , “time to put your money where your mouth is.”

Derek looks down at him and his dick _throbs_.

 _I'm gonna fucking wreck you_ , he thinks as he helps Stiles unzip him and then puts his hands on Derek's face, guides him forward until he's mouthing at Derek's clothed erection.

 

\-------------------------

10  
 **Warnings:** Underage (presumed, not specified), age difference  
 **Pairing:** Chris/Derek  
 **Notes:** Chris was the one to seduce Derek, not Kate.

 

“Slow down, Derek,” Chris says, but Derek's not the one who's been moving fast. He's not the one who took this from a friendly nod in the street to 'Have you ever let a man touch you like _this_ , Derek?' inside the space of a week.

Derek's still not sure how it happened, or why, but he's not going to give Chris chance to have second thoughts about it by asking awkward questions.

“Sorry,” he says, his fingers pausing on his buttons, because it seems like he's doing this wrong. “Don't you want me to--”

“I thought you might let me do that this time.” Chris's hands are over his then, pulling them down to his sides. Derek focuses on the slight crinkles at the corner of Chris's eyes that always appear when he smiles, willing his hands to stay still, his body not to respond too quickly to the quick brush of Chris's fingertips against his chest.

He can't help it when Chris pushes the shirt off his shoulders though, has to press himself against that long, lean body. Has to reach up for a kiss that's easily, if laughingly, provided. Reach down to get his hands on Chris's zipper, inside those jeans, get them off, off, _off_ .

“I love how keen you are,” Chris tells him, falling back onto the bed. “I never thought you'd be so--”

So what, he doesn't say, and Derek doesn't really care. He knows what he wants – he had only a taste of it last time, but he wants to do it properly now. Wants his mouth full; full of Chris, full of cock, too full to let him say anything stupid that will ruin this. Wants the weight of it on his tongue, wants to drown in the taste, the scent.

Chris is warm, and just a little salty, and makes a noise almost like he's surprised when Derek takes him all in. Derek can hear his arousal spiral in his pulse, feel it under his tongue, scent it in the air, and works his mouth harder, faster. Chris's hips jerk up under his hands, and he grins as much as he can around Chris's cock, because they are moving exactly as far as Derek will let them, not that Chris is aware of it.

He wonders, when Chris groans and swears, flooding Derek's mouth, if Chris would still let Derek's mouth near him if he knew how sharp his teeth really were.

“Will you fuck me next time?” he asks, when Chris's hand is jerking him off slowly, body relaxed under Derek's weight.

“There's just one small problem with that,” Chris says then, and that's it, Derek's sure. He's had enough, or Derek wasn't good enough, and he braces himself to hear just that.

“My sister and her family will be back home tomorrow,” Chris says instead, and Derek wants to laugh with relief. That's all? “So we won't be able to come here.”

It's a problem, because Derek couldn't deal with a motel or something even if Chris thought of it. Too many smells, too distracting, and downright unpleasant generally.

Which leaves one place. He shouldn't, and it won't be easy, but if it's that or nothing...

“There's always my house,” he says cautiously, because there is still the possibility that Chris just can't be bothered with him any more. He's relieved to see the huge smile on Chris's face.

“That would be _perfect_ ,” Chris tells him, as Derek comes, finally, all over his chest, and Derek doesn't care how difficult it's going to be to get him into his house.

Whatever it takes, he'll find a way.

 

\-------------------------

11  
 **Warnings:** Codependence, hair-pulling, D/s themes  
 **Pairing:** Sterek  
 **Notes:** Jennifer kills the Sheriff.

The months after his father dies are bad.

Stiles spirals, hard. He’s a gaunt, dead shell where a boy used to be and there’s no one to save him this time.

*

At least, he thought there was no one.

*

Derek barges into his house. His expression is murderous but Stiles doesn’t have enough energy to meet his rage. He sits there as Derek fishes a bag from underneath his bed and stuffs whatever clothes he can find in it.

“You’re coming with me.”

*

Under Derek’s watchful eye, Stiles is bathed, put in fresh clothes, and sat in front of a steaming bowl of soup. Derek crosses his arms.

“Eat.”

An order. Orders mean rules, structure, authority; they mean someone cares.

Stiles eats.

It’s his first proper meal in months and once he starts, he finds he can’t stop. He’s _starving_.

“Slow down,” Derek chides softly. “You’ll get sick if you eat too fast.”

Stiles slows, peeking up to watch Derek watch him. There’s happiness and pride in Derek’s eyes; his belly warms and it has nothing to do with the soup.

He doesn’t finish the bowl but it’s a start.

*

Life gets a new routine.

Derek takes care of him, provides everything that Stiles needs; direction and authority, compassion and comfort. Derek encompasses everything.

It’s probably unhealthy to rely so heavily on another person but it’s the only way Stiles knows how to cope.

It’s too late to go back, anyways.  
He waits for Derek to take the last step, to provide for him in the only way he hasn’t yet. He waits until he realizes that Derek won’t do it. Derek can’t be the one to do it; it has to be Stiles.

So, Stiles does. He goes to Derek one evening, kneeling down between his spread thighs. It feels safe there, protected; Derek always protects him.

“If I asked you to,” Stiles says in the quiet. “Would you tell me to suck your cock?”

Derek reaches forward to caress the side of his cheek; the skin where he touches tingles and Stiles yearns for more.

“You want this?”

Stiles nods. “Please.”

Derek’s hand drops and he sits back, leaving Stiles feeling cold and bereft but not for long. He unbuttons his jeans slowly, watching Stiles’ reaction closely as he slides the zipper down, lifting up to shove them down around his thighs. His cock is half-hard and Stiles’ mouth aches for it.

“You can still say no,” Derek says, taking himself in hand. “You can always say no.”

“ _Please_.”

A hand comes to cup the back of his head, pulling him forward, and he goes eagerly. Just shy of his prize, Derek stops him, running fingers through Stiles’ soft hair.

“Suck me,” he orders, his voice gentle but firm.

Stiles moans, relaxing as his mouth sinks down around Derek’s cock. Little noises of pleasure escape him as he learns Derek’s taste and smell and feel; he’s sloppy, eager and too fast, but he doesn’t care. He’s right where he belongs.

Derek says, “slow down,” an echo of the past.

Stiles does, ever obedient, whining happily around his mouthful when Derek pets him again; a reward.

“Look at you,” Derek whispers. “God, you’re such a good boy for me.”

The words are shock to Stiles’ system. He feels hot all over, embarrassed and proud and fucking needy all at once. He comes over his fingers, sinking as far down Derek’s cock as he can manage, before he realizes what’s happened. Derek groans and bucks, his hand dropping down to cup Stiles’ cheek.

“You like that?” He asks. “You want to be my good boy?”

Stiles whines, come-stained fingers scrambling on Derek’s thighs as he sucks eagerly. Yes, he thinks, please.

“Stiles.” Derek pulls him off by his hair, holding him back as his other hand goes to his cock, pumping hard and fast. “Tell me.”

“I am,” he begs, breathless. His mouth hangs open in hopes that Derek will put his cock back there, that Derek will let him prove how good he is. “Please, Derek.”

Derek’s release is warm on Stiles’ chin and tongue, running over his fingers and cock. He relaxes into his chair, his fingers going slack in Stiles’ hair, and Stiles pitches forward eagerly, sucking Derek’s fingers into his mouth to clean them. Derek pets him again, watching him proudly as Stiles lays his head on Derek’s thigh, fingers still in his mouth.

He promises, “you’re mine; my good boy,” and Stiles shudders, happy.

\-------------------------

12  
 **Warnings:** None  
 **Pairing:** Derek/Stiles  
 **Notes:** None

Stiles slaps Scott on the shoulder "Dude, that was Derek and Laura Hale. You remember them, right? They're only a few years older than us. Last I heard they were off at college in New York."

"I wonder what they're doing back," Scott says.

Stiles shakes his head as he watches Derek and Laura walk off. Whatever's going on, it can't be good.

* * *

"Scott! Scott, wait up!"

"Stiles, I'm playing the first elimination. Can it wait?"

"Just hold on, okay. I overheard my dad on the phone. They found the other half of the body and they were able to identify the victim."

"Stiles, I gotta go."

"Wait, Scott, you're not going to believe who it was." But Scott's already walking away. "It's Kate Argent. Allison's aunt."

* * *

"Who were they?" Scott asks.

"Hunters. They've been hunting us for centuries," Derek says.

"Us? You mean you. You did this to me."

"No, he didn't," a new voice interrupts. Talia Hale steps out of the woods. "But we know who did."

* * *

"So you're telling me that Derek's – hell, Cora's – uncle Peter went crazy, killed the Argent lady, and bit you," Stiles says.

"Yeah, pretty much."

"That's so weird."

"I know. But I met Cora's mom Talia and she's pretty cool. They're going to teach me how to control it. You should come."

Stiles raises an eyebrow. "Come where?"

"To the Hale house."

Stiles blinks. "Really? That's okay? Me? Hanging out with a bunch of werewolves?"

"Yeah. Derek said to invite you."

"Really? Derek did?"

"Yeah. He said something about googling and needing more information. He said you could help."

"Cool." Stiles wonders how Derek even knew about all the googling but he's not going to complain about getting front seat to werewolf central.

* * *

Stiles is fascinated with everything werewolf. If that fascination includes Derek Hale, the quietest of the Hales, then that's just part of the whole newness of the werewolf situation. Talia is awesome and Cora actually smiles at him during school instead of looking like she wants to gut him because he's some kind of prey. That analogy makes so much more sense now that he knows about werewolves. Laura clings to him like the older sister he never had but out of all the Hales, it's Derek that Stiles is drawn to.

He's not surprised then to find Derek in his bedroom when he gets home from an evening at the Hales.

Stiles grins. "Creeping much?"

"Says the one who can't stop staring at me."

Stiles blushes. "We're talking about that now?" They'd gone months without talking about Stiles's creepy crush on Derek.

"I think we should talk about that now."

"What if we just pretend not to?"

Derek sighs. "Stiles, you're sixteen. I'm twenty-five. Much as I like you, and I do, I can't like you."

Stiles sighs and drops into the chair in front of his desk. "Yeah. I got it." He hesitates and then looks up with a questioning glance. "What about when I'm eighteen?"

A small smile plays out on Derek's face. "When you're eighteen."

* * *

Stiles's eighteenth birthday passes quietly. He tells his dad he doesn't want a party, that he's just going to celebrate quietly. His dad still wakes him up with presents and he gets bombarded with them at school – from Scott and Allison and Cora – and threats from Cora that the Hales have something for him. All of the presents can wait though, because Stiles is a man on a mission.

As soon as he gets out of school he drives over to Derek's loft. Derek answers the door in his sweatpants. Stiles leaps forward, jumping into Derek's arms. Surprise is written all over Derek's face.

"You haven't had a girlfriend in the two years I've known you," Stiles says by way of explanation.

"No, I haven't." Derek's hand is under Stiles's ass, holding him upright while the other closes the front door.

"I'm eighteen now."

"I know."

"I'm going to kiss you now."

"Okay."

Their lips meet and it's electric. Stiles groans. Derek's hands wander. They tumble onto the couch and it's Stiles's first time having someone's hands in his pants and then his first time having someone's mouth on him. Stiles groans, gasps, comes too soon. Derek pulls away grinning and licks his lips.

"Happy Birthday."

 

\-------------------------

13  
 **Warnings:** Canon-typical violence  
 **Pairing:** Scott/Stiles  
 **Notes:** No thank you.

Scott swallows back his terror as he watches Kira fall, chokes on the flair of searing pain radiating through his middle. Unfamiliar eyes look at him, taunting.

“You okay?” There’s a shift in Stiles’ demeanor, an eerie level of confidence that Scott knows doesn’t belong to his best friend.

“Please don’t. Stop.” Scott’s words fall on deaf ears as Stiles taps out a rhythm on the hilt of the katana.

He’s powerless to stop the nogitsune. Nothing short of slicing through Stiles’ throat will fell the demon, and Scott won’t do that. He can’t.

“It’s okay,” Stiles says.

He wraps his fingers around the hilt gingerly—a gesture Scott has seen before, but never meant in such a hateful way. Never meant to cause pain. Stiles claps a hand, casual, almost friendly, on Scott’s shoulder and Scott scrambles for a way to pull Stiles out of the darkness in his mind. Tug him forward, demand he regain control.

Before he’s able to come up with anything, Stiles is twisting the blade in Scott’s gut, hot and sharp. It’s a pain like nothing Scott’s felt before, blackening his insides, fogging his mind. He squeezes his eyes shut, grits his teeth against it. Scott wonders if this could be it. If this pain, combined with the betrayal and helplessness that are blotting out everything else, could possibly be the thing that kills him, supernatural or not.

“Does it hurt?” Stiles asks. His tone is frighteningly intimate as he leans close. Scott can feel his breath on his face, and he tries to hang onto that. To pull himself out of this anguish with a different memory of this sort of closeness. “No. Look at me.”

It takes what feels like Scott’s last vestige of strength to raise his eyes to meet Stiles’, and when he does, he only sees his best friend standing there before him, eyes warm and caring.

“Stiles, don’t,” Scott tries to say, but the words come out choked and weak, garbled with the blood rising in his throat.

His instincts are telling him to fight, to lash out, no matter the cost. But he can’t. He _can’t._ Stiles is still in there, still fighting the nogitsune from inside his own mind, and if there’s any chance of him surviving this, Scott won’t be the one to end him. Not even if this costs him his own life.

He lets his head fall back, groans in agony. Stiles’ hand feels warm against Scott’s face as he tips his head up. There's another flicker of awareness in Stiles' eyes before darkness eclipses them again. Scott knows he's fighting, trying to regain control.

Stiles twists the blade again, tugging and tearing at Scott's flesh, blood soaking his skin.

He has to find something, _something_ to bring Stiles back to himself. Scott’s breath sticks in his throat as he shudders in a lungful of air, prepares to pull any powers he can manage from deep within.

Scott wraps unsteady fingers around Stiles’ wrist, wills the red to flood his eyes as he calls out Stiles’ name again, forceful, demanding.

There’s recognition in Stiles’ gaze this time, horror, regret. His hand is still pressed against Scott’s face.

Tears well in Stiles' eyes. His lip trembles as he leans forward, rests his forehead against Scott's.

There's stillness all around, and Scott can hear the thundering of Stiles' heart.

Not knowing what else to do, Scott surges forward, ignoring the shift of the blade as he presses his mouth to Stiles', wraps a hand around the back of Stiles' neck, and pierces the skin there with sharp claws.

There's a moment where the pain connects them, pulls them together in a miasma of swirling agony, then Stiles is kissing him back, going lax as Scott pours all of his memories into Stiles' thoughts. Memories of them, together; kissing, touching. He thinks of lips pressed against his inner wrist, the way Stiles moans Scott’s name into his neck as Scott fucks into him, stretches him open, fills him up.

Scott forces these memories to the forefront of Stiles' mind. All of the love and devotion shared between them.

"I need you...to hang on," Scott says against Stiles' lips. "Please. I'll save you. I swear to god, Stiles. Just keep fighting."

With shaky, stilted motions, Stiles’ hand pulls back, dragging the katana with it. His jaw is set in a hard line of determination, eyes shimmering with tears. His hand trembles as the blade clatters to the floor.

\-------------------------

14  
 **Warnings:** -  
 **Pairing:** Danny/Ethan  
 **Notes:** Takes place post 3B.

Ethan was pulled out of his sleep by a persistent knocking on the hotel room door. Groaning, he got out of bed and walked over, peeking out. He immediately opened the door and Danny walked inside, pulling Ethan into a kiss as his other hand slammed the door shut.

Ethan pulled back a few minutes later when his brain finally caught up and pushed at Danny’s chest to keep him at bay for a moment. It had been a month since they broke up again and Ethan left Beacon Hills. “What are you doing here?”

“I lied,” Danny said. “I can do it.”

“Danny, I can’t go back there.”

“I’m not asking you too.”

“Danny, I-“

Danny surged forward for another kiss, cutting off whatever Ethan was going to say. “I love you, and I’m not letting you go again.” He wrapped his arms around Ethan, kissing him again. Ethan found himself giving in and kissed back, moaning softly when Danny’s hands slid down the back of his sleep pants.

Ethan let himself be led towards the bed. Danny gently gave Ethan a push onto the bed before taking his shirt off and joining him. They couldn’t get their clothes off fast enough.

Danny lay over top of Ethan, their bodies slotting together perfectly. He leaned in for another kiss, sliding his cock against Ethan’s. Ethan moaned and wrapped his arms around Danny and thrust his hips into Danny’s. “I don’t-I don’t have anything,” Ethan said, groaning as Danny sucked on his neck. He ran his hands down Danny’s back and dug his fingers into Danny’s butt cheeks.

Danny gave him another kiss. “Did you forget who you dated?” he asked with a smile. He pulled away for a moment and leaned over the side of the bed grabbing his wallet out of his pants. He found a condom and lube packet and pulled them out.

Ethan watched in anticipation as Danny rolled the condom on, his heart racing. Danny poured some lube on his fingers and quickly prepped Ethan before he was lying over him and giving Ethan a kiss. Ethan gasped, his back arching as Danny slowly slid inside. His fingers curled into Danny’s sides. “D-Danny..”

“Are you okay?”

Ethan nodded. “Yes. Fuck. I’m perfect.” He pulled Danny in for a kiss, moaning when Danny started to thrust. He wrapped his legs around Danny’s waist, his moans getting louder as Danny fucked him harder. “Danny,” Ethan moaned, rubbing his cock against Danny’s stomach. “Oh fuck, Danny.”

Danny kissed him again, groaning softly and gripping Ethan’s hips tightly as he drove into him faster. “I’ve missed this,” Danny said between kisses. “I’ve missed you.”

“I’ve missed you too,” Ethan whimpered. “Oh God, I’ve missed you. I love you Danny.” He wasn’t going to last very much longer as things turned desperate. He dug his fingers into Danny’s back, his moans louder and louder. “I love you.” He slipped a hand between them and wrapped it around his cock. “Danny..”

Danny gave him another kiss. “I love you too. I’ll always love you.”

Afterwards, they lay curled up in each other’s arms. As much as Ethan wanted it to last, he knew it had to end. “I can’t let you come with me. You have a life in Beacon Hills,” Ethan said. “I-I can’t take that away from you.”

Danny pulled back and Ethan felt his heart break when he saw the hurt in his eyes. “I don’t want us to be over yet.”

“Neither do I,” Ethan said, reaching out and touching Danny’s cheek. “I love you, Danny and I don’t think I’ll ever stop, but we can’t be together right now. I know you know that or you wouldn’t have broken up with me.” He took Danny’s hand and intertwined their fingers. “You need to go back to Beacon Hills. Finish school, go to college,” Ethan had to pause for a moment, his voice starting to crack when he spoke again. “Find someone who can be with you.”

“Why can’t it be you?”

Ethan could feel tears welling up in his own eyes. “I want to be the one, but I can’t. Not right now.”

“But you could later on?”

“Danny, I can’t have you wait for me. I couldn’t do that to you.”

Danny wiped the tears from his eyes and snuggled closer. “Then I guess tonight is our last night together.”

When Ethan woke up the next morning, Danny was already gone.

 

\-------------------------

15  
 **Warnings:** None  
 **Pairing:** Scott/Stiles

"It's not going to work."

"Stiles," Scott says firmly, "It will."

Stiles hesitates, and Scott can see the fear in his eyes. He knows that Stiles is holding tenuously onto reality - any minute he'll slip away again, disappear into the nogitsune, and Scott won't be able to help him anymore.

And Scott won't let that happen.

"Please," Scott says urgently, his voice low. He's pleading, and he know Stiles can hear it. Out of everyone in the world, only Stiles can hear the nuances in Scott's tone as well as Scott can hear his own.

He can see Stiles' shoulders set, and he swallows thickly.

"Okay."

When Scott gently pushes up the hem of Stiles' shirt, he can feel Stiles shiver. He runs a soothing hand over his side, trying to calm him.

"I've got you," Scott whispers.

"What if it doesn't work," Stiles says frantically, his words all coming out in a rush. "What if it knows what you're doing, what if things get worse -"

Scott looks up, waiting for Stiles to meet his eyes. "It won't," he says, his voice steady. "I won't let that happen."

Stiles exhales, his voice shaking when he nods. "Okay."

Scott's fangs sink into Stiles' flesh, and he has to fight to suppress the moan that echoes through his head. It's stronger than he'd thought, giving the bite. It's as if his whole body's woken up, finely tuned into every one of Stiles' senses. The way his tastes, the way he smells. The way his body leans into him ever so slightly. The way it sounds like maybe, just maybe, Stiles is moaning too.

When Scott pulls back, they're both panting.

"Are you okay?" Scott breathes, running his fingers gently over the wound on Stiles' side. He hopes he didn't go too deep.

He hopes it works.

Stiles nods, beads of sweat prickling along his hairline. "I think so."

"How do you feel?"

A pause. "Like... myself."

When Scott grins up at him, Stiles smiles back.

"Come on," Scott says, standing and wrapping a helping arm around Stiles' shoulders. "Let's go clean you up."

"Scott," Stiles says, and Scott cocks his head towards him. "I don't want to go home tonight."

"Really?" Scott asks, pausing outside his bathroom. "Wouldn't you sleep better in your own bed?"

"Maybe," Stiles says. "But... if something happens to me..."

Scott nods. He understands. "You can stay with me."

"I don't want to be alone." Stiles' voice is a whisper, and before Scott can stop and think, can change his mind, he presses a kiss to Stiles' temple.

"You won't be. I promise."

And Stiles isn't. Scott is with him as he washes his wound, as he changes into a pair of Scott's sweatpants for bed. Scott's with him, spooned up behind him overnight, one hand resting on his hip to make sure. To keep him safe.

And in the morning, when Stiles rolls over and his lips sleepily press against skin, as his hands slide over firm muscle and push away clothing, Scott's there, too.

And as he moans, this time into Stiles' mouth, he knows that there's nowhere he'd rather be.

\-------------------------

 

16  
 **Warnings:** instinct-driven D/s that could be considered dub-con-ish  
 **Pairing:** Chris/Derek  
 **Notes:** diverges from canon at 2.08 “Raving”

“Victoria, stop!”

She just smiles serenely. “I’ve taken care of this… _thing_ once and for all.” She gestures down at Scott, twitching pitifully in the wolfsbane haze.

“He’s a child,” Chris says. “There are other ways—”

Something barrels into him from behind and sharp pain shoots through his shoulder.

\---

The look in Victoria’s eyes isn’t conflicted at all – it’s nothing but grief. Like Chris is already gone. “The moon will be rising soon.”

Chris looks down at the gun in his hands. The bullets are full of wolfsbane, and the scent of it is already starting to burn. “Say goodbye to Allison for me?”

“Of course,” she says, pulling him close. “I’ll take care of her. Always.”

The thought of Allison left alone with Victoria and Gerard makes a chill run down Chris’s spine, but he hides it, kisses his wife for the last time.

The light in the bathroom is harsh, but it’ll be easier to clean this room than the bedroom. Chris is starting to tremble, and before he knows it, he’s pushed the window open to feel the moonlight on his skin. In the mirror, his eyes are already starting to glow amber; he has to do it now.

The mirror shatters from the shot, but Chris is out the window before the gun even hits the ground.

\---

He’s not even sure what part of town he’s in or how long he’s been running; all he knows is he’s chasing the siren song of _alpha, alpha, alpha_ that’s in his heartbeat now. When he races into the train depot, he’s aware of other wolves – betas, reeking of hormones and rage.

Chris roars.

The second Derek comes out of the train car, Chris lunges. His alpha is tired but still strong enough to flip one fledgling beta on his back and pin him by the neck. Derek’s eyes flash red and it’s not enough to make Chris stop fighting, but he finds himself instinctively tilting his head back, as though he needs to bare more of his throat.

“You’re not a teenager,” Derek growls through fangs. “You can control this.”

Allison’s face flashes through Chris’s mind. He knows about anchors, knows how they tether werewolves to their humanity, and he feels the madness draw back. Back, but not away.

“ _You_ ,” Chris rasps, tearing at what’s left of Derek’s shirt. “You did this to me.”

“I could have killed you,” Derek hisses. “I could have killed your wife for trying to murder a teenage boy. Instead I made you stronger.”

“Made me one of you!”

Derek grins, a chilling sight on his shifted face, but something inside Chris stirs when Derek dips his head to whisper right in Chris’s ear. “It’s a gift, Chris. Accept it.”

Chris can’t even summon the words to deny it; the pull is too deep. It’s part of him now.

That doesn’t mean he can’t keep fighting.

He surges up and nearly takes Derek off guard, but Derek is too powerful. All it earns Chris is Derek’s entire body pressed atop his, all that taut strength pinning Chris to the floor, and something about it feels right on a purely animal level.

If he had the power to rationalize it, Chris would blame the moon or the secondhand hormones for the raging lust. But the searing hot pressure of another body – Derek’s body, cruelly beautiful thing that it is – makes his legs part, letting Derek’s thigh fall between them. He could no sooner stop himself from grinding up than he could stop breathing.

Derek’s grin grows sharper, and he rocks down, letting Chris feel the answering hardness through his jeans. “That’s it,” he murmurs. “Let your alpha take care of you.”

It should be utterly humiliating, this reversal of everything he’s spent his life fighting for, but instead it just feels good. It’s right that he should surrender himself to this urge, to just take something that his alpha – that _Derek_ – is offering. He hasn’t felt this overstimulated in decades, and within minutes he’s aching with the need to come. He throws his head back again in frustration, but at the feeling of Derek’s fangs pressed lightly against his throat, Chris’s vision goes gray around the edges. His orgasm feels like it’s being torn out of him, raw and hollowing and just shy of painful.

But Derek is still there when he comes back down, still hard against Chris’s hip. He’s taken nothing for himself.

“Welcome to the pack, Chris.”

 

\-------------------------

**17**  
 **Warnings:** unsafe sex? rough sex?  
 **Pairing:** Derek/Stiles  
 **Notes:** Assumes Derek never goes back to BH after Laura's death.

"Derek. Something's not right here. Look, whatever happens, do not come back to Beacon Hills. I... I'll see you soon baby bro. Love you."

~~~

The club is loud and crowded, one out of any number of identical such places in New York. Lights pulse in manic flashes of blue and white, and it makes the world feel artificial, dreamlike. Only the cold glass of the beer bottle in his hands feels anything close to real.

Derek isn’t sure what keeps drawing his attention to the kid dancing unselfconsciously out in the middle of the room. He’s not Derek’s type, not by a long shot; he’s too lanky. Too fucking _young_ It’s just that…there’s something about him. It makes Derek’s skin itch, and the wolf inside of him stretch and coil under his skin in a way that he hasn't felt for years. Not since Laura died, and he failed her, failed his family and his pack, by not going back to avenge her.

The lights do weird things to the kid. Derek thinks his dancing should seem awkward, too open and frenzied, but the lights soften him, creating odd shadows and angles that make his movements appear sinuous instead. It’s like a fucking impressionist painter has taken a brush to him, and turned him into something both more and less than what he is.

It’s almost against his will that Derek finds himself setting his drink down and heading out onto the dance floor. He lets the music get into his bones, lets it carry him forward until he’s close enough that he can catch honey brown eyes.

The kid’s been turning people away all night, but he doesn't turn Derek away.

Instead his lips quirk into an impish grin and he nods, twirling around and pressing his back to Derek’s front, swaying with him like they’re one creature. He tilts his neck back, baring his throat even as he presses his mouth into the crook between Derek’s jaw and neck. For all the submission that the gesture implies, it demands just as much from Derek in return.

“Stiles,” the kid whispers, barely audible over the thrum of the music. “My name is Stiles.”

~~~

“Fucking fuck me already,” Derek hisses, trying to press his ass back into the fingers that the kid, Stiles, is teasing him with. His arms are braced against the tiled back wall of the stall, and he's got one foot hiked up on the toilet seat to make it easier to open him up. This should be gross, the bathroom reeks of sex and piss, and this isn’t like him, but he feels _out of control_. He needs this kid to fuck him, and he doesn’t know why. At the moment he doesn’t care.

“Pushy much?” Stiles laughs, sliding his fingers out of Derek’s ass. He slots up behind him and presses a kiss, and then his cheek, to the tattoo between Derek’s shoulder blades. “It’s ok baby, I’ve got what you need. Came to find you just for this. To make you mine."

And then Stiles is fucking him. He fucks like Derek thinks he must live. Like he’s got to get the most out of it that he possibly can, selfish and needy. Like what he’s doing in that moment is the only thing that matters. Like _Derek_ is the only thing that matters.

Derek arches into it, hears himself grunting with each slide of Stiles’ cock into him. He doesn’t have the balance to touch himself, so he begs, voice hoarse and broken, for Stiles to touch him instead.

Stiles doesn’t. He presses his mouth to Derek’s shoulder, teeth a warning pressure that sparks a shudder down his spine. And then it’s not a warning anymore. The bite is hard and it draws blood, the scent of it sharp in the air. It breaks Derek, and he comes like he's been struck by lightning.

~~~

Derek’s legs are shaky when he finally straightens, Stiles still a scorching presence behind him. It’s an effort for him to get his jeans up.

Something has changed inside of him. He turns around and meets Stiles’ eyes, and he’s not surprised when they flash blood red. It explains the rush of familiarity, the indefinable _something_ that he realizes now is the thrum of pack and family and potential.

“Alpha,” he acknowledges. The come leaking out of him, making his thighs wet, feels like a claim.

Stiles smiles his impish grin from earlier. “Mine,” he agrees.

\-------------------------

18  
 **Warnings:** none  
 **Pairing:** Derek/Stiles  
 **Notes:** Takes place during Master Plan, after the ending warehouse scene. Stiles visits Derek to find his misery's company.

 

“What do you want?”

Stiles grimaces, shuffling from side to side with his hands in his pockets. He clears his throat. “Company?”

Derek has his back to him, muscles clenching as he continues doing pull-ups. “Strange place to look for that.”

The train car has a lingering scent of an odor eliminator. Covering up the stench of prior homeless tenants, Stiles presumes.

“Oh, you know,” Stiles stammers out, “Just passing through the neighborhood and saw the lights on. Wanted to see how you were doing?”

The excuse sounds weak, even to his own ears. He’s not surprised when Derek drops from the grab rail and turns his head to the side.

“Why don’t you go and ask Scott,” Derek says, and drops to lounge in a double car seat. He leans his head back and closes his eyes.

“Not really speaking to him. Need some time alone, at least until he gets his head out of his ass or we have a chance to brohug it out.”

Derek doesn’t move.

He looks at peace, arms splayed out, as if he was a space, waiting for something to fill it.

Stiles tenses, a crawling feeling of envy juddering up his spine, the memory of Lydia and Jackson crowding his mind. The way they held each other, tightly, with no room for others. He walks to Derek and plops down at his side. It feels good to close his eyes, lean back, let his neck press against Derek’s arm behind him, a bit sweaty and a lot warm.

When Stiles turns to look at him, Derek is already looking back.

His expression is unreadable, except Stiles thinks he looks sad.

In one swift motion, Stiles kisses him.

There is no finesse, no strategy; Derek seems to be rendered immobile for a second, surprising Stiles when he pushes a kiss back, hand cupping Stiles’ jaw.

“Is this what you came here for?” Derek mutters against Stiles’ cheek.

“No.” Stiles is already panting, already feeling his jeans tighten unbearably, and embarrassingly. “I just--I don’t know. I just did it. Was it--”

Derek’s thumb circles below Stiles’ ear, the hesitation so palpable, Stiles tries to pull away. But Derek holds him in place. “It was.”

His hands roam to Stiles’ waist, and Stiles reciprocates, dropping his head down and gasping along Derek’s shoulder.

When they come, it feels like liberation, and recompense.

-

“So you really think she’s gonna come back to you?”

“Yeah, I know she is. What about you and Lydia?”

“Well, my 10 year plan for making Lydia fall in love with me may have to be subverted to a 5 year plan of moving on, considering her and Jackson apparently have a supernatural, lizard-curse breaking love. But you know, I have a plan.”

“Nothing helps moving on like outright rejection. Why don’t you just ask her out?” Scott smiles.

Stiles laughs. “Yeah, okay, why don’t just get in the goal and help me make team captain like you promised, big guy.”

 

\-------------------------

19  
 **Warnings:** None  
 **Pairing:** Sterek  
 **Notes:** Stiles doesn't wake up right away when the others wake up in their tubs full of ice.

Stiles doesn’t wake up. They pull him out of the tub, wrap him in blankets, and watch. The Nemeton or something greater has him in their hold. Scott looks to Deaton who shakes his head. Derek paces while Scott, Allison, Isaac, and Lydia hold vigil.

***

Stiles wakes up. The sun is shining through his curtains. Scratching his head, he rubs his face in his pillow to try and wake up. The smell of bacon lures him downstairs.

“Ma, that smells amazing,” he says.

Claudia Stilinski smiles back at him.

***

_That’s when he should’ve known something was wrong but he doesn’t. Because as far as dreams go this one of his mother is pretty fucking tame. He dreams about her a lot. Wishes for her. And right before he drops off to sleep sometimes, he whispers the word ‘Mom’ just so he can hear it roll off of his tongue. It’s foreign. But it feels good._

***

He’s got the jeep waxed and it shines brightly in the sun when he jumps in and almost burns his ass on the hot leather.

“Fuck!” he shouts, leaning on one cheek and then the other until his body acclimates to the heat. Then, he’s a screech of rubber on the pavement as he tears up towards the lake house.

***

_His Jeep has never been waxed. Ever._

***

They pull up in front of the house and it’s duffel bags, sandals, beach balls, and floaties everywhere. The smell from the grill is delicious. Tom Hale is standing there, manning the fort while Talia floats around in some sort of sarong type thing. They wave everyone in and Stiles stops to tweak the nose of Nora Hale.

“Derek’s down at the lake, Stiles,” Talia says with a quick wink. “Go find him. He’s moping.”

“Will do, Mrs. H.”

Stiles, Scott and Isaac are a tangle of limbs, elbows, and everything smells like spf one-thousand, but he’s on his way to get a sunburn and see his boyfriend. He runs.

***

_He didn’t fall down once. Not once. There’s a clue. Plus the fact that Derek fucking Hale is your goddamn boyfriend. That’s a big fucking clue._

***

Stiles stands on the beach scanning the bodies in the water to find him. Him, him, him. His heart stutters and his belly flops when one body starts towards him.

“Fu-uu-uhck.”

Derek walks up out of the water effortlessly. And Stiles runs down to meet him. Into waiting arms.

***

_Dumb. Ass. Stillinski. You’re so stupid. How could you have fallen for it?_

***

They sneak off after supper when everyone is full and telling stories.

They go down to the boathouse. Derek pulls out a sleeping bag he’s stowed away in the rafters and Stiles tries not to think too much about mouse shit or anything that might be falling from it while Derek shakes it out and lies it down. Stiles crawls over, flops on it, and strikes a pose.

“Tell me you don’t want a piece of this.”

“You know I do.”

Slowly they peel away the layers that they’ve been missing. The clothing that they were every day to hide who they are and what they might see because they only want to show this stuff - these long bits of skin, the gasps, the sighs, the bruises, the scars - to each other. Stiles kisses his way down Derek’s long torso, nipping at his hip bone, nuzzling at the hair just above his cock. The moan that Derek lets out when Stiles latches on is something Stiles will file away to keep and when he’s old and grey, he’ll take it out and remember back when he could elicit that kind of noise from someone else. Someone he loves. Someone who loves him. Sweat pools at the base of his neck, but he doesn’t stop. Until Derek pulls up on his arms. Fisting them together, Derek’s all rush and ‘yes’ and ‘god, now’.

They lie there fighting for breath in the afterglow.

And life is perfect.

***

_Stiles wakes up. And knows the whole thing was a fucking lie._

***

And when the Nogitsune comes for him, Stiles almost feels like ‘The Chosen One’. Or at the very least a human horcrux. But he welcomes the blackness with open arms because he hopes against hope for the glimpse again of ‘what if’.

\-------------------------

20  
 **Warnings:** underage, character death (prior to the story)  
 **Pairing:** Stiles/Laura  
 **Notes:** What if Derek were killed instead of Laura?

The dead body’s name is Derek Hale.

It’s easy for Stiles to think of it as a _body_ because there’s only half of it there in a shallow hole in the ground, like someone forgot to finish burying it.

It’s just a _thing_ : flesh over bone, food for the wolves that Stiles can hear howling ( _there are no wolves in California_ ).

He doesn’t know that it’s the beginning of _everything_.

#

She climbs in his window and he doesn’t know what to do.

She shoves him against a locker; he fights back, arguing with a fucking _werewolf_ whose eyes flash red as she bares sharp teeth.

She’s drowning in a pool and he leaps in after her.

He saves her life.

She seems to trust him and he trusts her. He doesn’t know what to do with that, either.

It’s funny how things work. Scott has Allison. Lydia has Jackson. And Stiles… Stiles seems to have _something_ with Laura Hale.

#

She goes quiet in the summer. The sharpness of her alpha’s smile fades to a dark growl in the wake of Erica and Boyd’s lengthening absence. Stiles knows he isn’t actually _wanted_ , but she doesn’t push him away when he shows up unannounced at the remains of Hale house.

“You can’t do this alone,” he tells her.

“I’ve got Isaac,” she retorts. Stiles rolls his eyes.

“You need me.” It isn’t a question or offer; it’s simple fact.

She argues that he’s only sixteen and deserves a better life ( _so are Isaac, Erica, and Boyd_ ). She argues that it’s _wolf_ business, not human ( _his best friend is a werewolf and he’s already saved her life more than once… shut up already_ ). She argues constantly, but weeks pass and Stiles is there by her side more often than not, churning through data, trying to figure out what’s happening.

He won’t lie: the idea of the alpha pack scares him.

The possibility of losing Erica and Boyd ( _and Laura_ ) terrifies him more.

#

He thinks about her all the time.

He worries, too. He tries to save her again, because he can see her slipping into the darkness of her own mind.

“I think you should talk to the Argents.”

Laura snorts. “So you’ve said. You know how I feel about that.”

Stiles flicks a glance at Isaac. “I think you’re wrong. The alpha pack’s a common enemy. Chris Argent already knows we’re the good guys, and he needs to know. They’re back from France on Tuesday—”

“No,” Isaac growls. He stalks off before Laura can correct him.

“You know I’m right,” Stiles says quietly.

“You think that because I let you…” Her voice trails off, lips pressed thinly together. “I’m the alpha.”

“I’m aware.”

For all her growling, he’s not afraid of her. He’s never been afraid.

#

When it’s just them he can push his limits, testing her patience until she shoves him up against the wall.

He can duck in under her defenses, brush his lips against hers, feel her sag against him.

Stiles turns the tables, stripping them both quickly and efficiently so that he can lift her, slide inside her, fucking her against the wall until they are sweaty and desperate for release. She comes, howling. He loves the sound of it, growling like a wolf himself when he pours into her, blunt teeth fastened to her shoulder.

( _He’s getting muscles. When Scott asks, Stiles shrugs, says he’s doing a little lifting… Scott wouldn’t understand._ )

In the aftermath, Laura is soft, the darkness held at bay. They lie together and talk about movies, comics, things normal teens might discuss. She confides that she turned twenty at the start of summer and barely noted the birthday; it feels odd when she realizes she left her teenage years and Derek didn’t make it.

He learns her history in stolen moments when they curl together, when she is soft enough, open enough to let him in.

Stiles falls in love with Laura Hale, and it kills him a little on the inside because there is no one he can tell.

#

He wonders, sometimes, what might have happened if Laura had died instead. He feels guilty to be thankful for Derek’s death, thankful that the _body_ was one sibling and not the other. Then he sees her again, _fucks_ her again, curls with her in the dark and _loves_ her all over again… the guilt fades.

Derek Hale is nothing more than dust, and Stiles loves Laura. It couldn’t possibly be any other way.

\-------------------------

21  
 **Warnings:** underage  
 **Pairing:** Stiles/Derek  
 **Notes:** For a hot second Kate and Chris suspect Stiles is the one that was bitten by Peter in season 1. They actually follow up on it and kidnap him.

**.**

Stiles had read once why birds could sit all day on power lines. He'd be okay on his torture rack, as long as they didn't touch him. The current was low enough so it wouldn't kill him, not even in his weakened “human” state. He almost laughed because they'd never even bothered to check.

Kate didn't really care if he was human or not, just that he'd scream. She asked him about Derek and the alpha, but mostly she talked, about his whiskey eyes, his cute little nose and the obscene plump of his lips.

She trailed her fingers over his face when the current was low and she had to feel it even more than him, the electricity coursing through them and into the ground, leaving him exhausted. It wasn't enough to harm, but it was enough to make him feel it.

Kate smiled as she turned up the dial and Stiles slipped into unconsciousness.

**.**

There was a lot of blood. Something... a body, a person... Something was on the floor by the torture equipment. Stiles didn't have the strength to look and not throw up, so he just closed his eyes and let strong hands cut him down.

**.**

He dreamed about going to the dance with Lydia, making her laugh at someone else's expense. Allison and Scott were there, playing hide and seek with Coach Finstock.

**.**

When he woke again, everything was on fire. His hair hurt, his skin was burning and all his muscles felt like he'd run a marathon. He figured that he was in his room, the shadows all familiar.

“Huh,” he said. “I'm alive.”

“Barely.” That was not Scott. Or his dad.

“Derek?”

He got an answering grunt from the shadows by his desk. Then two blue pinpricks of light. “Go back to sleep.”

Stiles grimaced. “I have to pee.”

“I'm not helping you with that.” Stiles could hear the amusement in his tone. And hell, if Derek was here, there could only be one reason. He'd been watching over him.

“Hey, so, is this going to be a Twilight thing?”

Derek glared. “Shut up.”

**.**

Falling asleep was nearly impossible with Derek right there in the shadows, so Stiles did what he did best. “You and Scott came to rescue me.” Derek didn't answer. “You killed her. It was her, wasn't it? The one who burned down your house?”

“Yes.”

**.**

“I missed the dance.”

Derek had migrated to the bed when the Sheriff came home so Stiles' babbling wouldn't give them away. Stiles couldn't say that it bothered him. Derek was strangely soft, hot in all the right ways.

“I missed my chance with Lydia.”

Derek shifted. Warm fingers traced his jaw. “She'll give you another one if she's half as smart as you think she is.”

“That's not how it works.”

**.**

It was nearly dawn when Stiles turned on his side and looked at the hazel eyes watching him. Derek wasn't a friend, he was a werewolf who'd lost everything and still took the time to save Stiles' life.

“I'm not missing another chance,” Stiles said. He kissed Derek on the lips, barely there, but enough to make his intentions clear.

Derek was out the window before he could open his eyes again.

.

Peter turned out to be the alpha and wasn't that a kick in the nuts.

.

As an alpha, Derek was different. A little crazy, a little stupid, and a little less interested in denying himself something he wanted.

He kissed like he was drowning.

.

Derek still saved Stiles, made it a habit. And in between they'd kiss sometimes – never more. Never enough to make it solid.

.

“I think we should have sex,” Stiles said as he leaned back against the wreck of a train car.

.

 

“I brought something.” Derek pulled out two bottles. One was lube. The other one a sample of kanima poison.

.

When Stiles was inside him, Derek whined, gasped, spilled words like love and forever. One day, Stiles would be able to convince him that he could trust himself as much as he trusted Stiles. He stroked his hair and whispered encouragement with every thrust.

“I've got you, Derek.”

**22  
 **Pairing:** ** Derek/Stiles (Lydia/Stiles)

Stiles has been dating Lydia for a year when Scott is bitten by the Alpha.

He abandons her at the cinema when Scott texts him about losing control during lacrosse practice, and Stiles throws himself into his Jeep.

He barely looks back.

*

“I’m not cutting off your fucking _arm_ , Derek!” Stiles yells, gesturing at the black veins pulsing along Derek’s bicep.

“I’m going to _die_ if you don’t,” Derek says through gritted teeth. “ _Do it._ ”

For the first time, Stiles realises that he doesn’t want Derek to die. He’s mean, he’s dangerous, and he’s entirely untrustworthy, but Stiles still _likes_ him, with his glare and stubble and leather jackets.

“Okay,” Stiles nods, feeling wrecked. “ _Okay_.”

*

“I love you,” Stiles grins, tucking a strand of red behind her ear; it’s one of his favourite things to do.

“I know,” Lydia says haughtily, and doesn’t even spare Jackson Whittemore a glance as he walks by, glaring bullets into Stiles’ skull.

*

It’s been almost an hour of waiting with nervous anticipation in the Jeep outside the hospital when Derek asks:

“How long have you been together?”

Stiles thumbs away his text conversation with Lydia, ignoring the constant vibrating notifications.

“About a year,” Stiles says. “I’ve been in love with her since third grade, though.”

Derek snorts. “You think you know what love is at your age.”

“I’ll love Lydia until the day I die,” Stiles says firmly, because he believes it.

Derek turns away to stare out of the window.

“Don’t be so sure.”

*

“Where have you been?” Lydia demands when she wrenches the door open. “You’re _three hours late._ ”

Stiles’ hair is still wet, even though he’s in dry clothes. He wants to tell Lydia that he saved his and Derek’s lives, holding them both up in a pool for what felt like eternity. He wants to tell Lydia that he didn’t think he’d ever see her again, and that broke his heart.

He wants to tell Lydia that he was terrified he wouldn’t get to say goodbye to his dad.

Instead, Stiles says, “I’m sorry, Lyds, I’m _so_ sorry,” and presses long kisses to her lips, the feeling of Derek’s wet stubble still lingering against his cheeks.

*

“First Paige, then Kate, now Jennifer,” Stiles says jokingly, but his eyes are dark with seriousness. “You sure know how to pick ‘em.”

“Don’t,” Derek warns, and makes to shove Stiles away.

“ _No_ ,” Stiles says, standing his ground in the loft doorway.

“Go back to your ‘perfect’ girlfriend, Stiles,” Derek bites, and shoulders past. “I don’t need your help. Not now, not ever.”

*

“Something’s wrong,” Lydia says. It’s matter-of-fact, like she’s giving her Chemistry presentation instead of sitting, naked, on top of Stiles.

He shakes his head, protests weakly, “No, I’m just tired.”

“No,” Lydia says, climbing off; her departure leaves Stiles in ugly goose bumps. She pulls her dressing gown on, turning to look back at him. “You’re not in love with me anymore, Stiles.”

“No!” he shouts, sitting up fast. “I’ll _always_ love you, Lydia. I’ve been in love with you since third grade!”

Lydia curls a strawberry-blonde ribbon of hair behind her ear. “Not anymore you’re not.”

*

“Derek,” Stiles sobs, nails digging so hard they’re cutting blood from Derek’s arms, “I can still hear him in my head, please make him stop, Derek, _please_ , oh god, please—”

“He’s gone, Stiles,” Derek says, over and over, “I won’t let you go, he’s gone, it’s _okay_.”

“I need Lydia,” Stiles weeps wretchedly, “I need her, I _love_ her.”

Derek doesn’t say anything at all, but he never lets go.

*

“Why?” Lydia twirls the straw of her milkshake, her lips as red as the maraschino cherry on top. “Because you love me, but… I don’t make you angry. I don’t make you cry. All I am is a sounding board for your slightly inferior brain.” She smiles, and it’s sad, but it’s honest. “I don’t make you _feel_ , Stiles.”

*

Derek fucks like he looks: smouldering, rough, _intense_. Stiles folds himself in half, Derek’s palm pressing his thighs down as he fucks in, hard and deep and earth-shatteringly _good_ , and Stiles wonders how he could ever live without this—

“I love you,” he whines; it falls out of his mouth, a blunder, and it turns Derek’s eyes blue.

“I love you,” Derek echoes, like it costs him his life to say, but his hands are suddenly gentle on Stiles’ skin. “ _I love you._ ”

**23  
 **Warnings:** foreskin play  
 **Pairing:**** Finstock solo, Finstock/Stiles

Bobby flopped back onto his second-hand and slightly-ripped linen couch, groaning and stretching his arms out on either sides, exhausted. "15 lap practice, 15 lap practice and what the hell does that have to do with Coach's 'obligation to lead', geezes crusty apples....!" Bobby swore at the stain on his living room ceiling (the one that had been there since last year, when the old couple upstairs that just won't quit their bedroom activities let their bathtub overrun and leaked a perfect circle on top of where Bobby usually sat. Bobby had developed a certain familiarity toward this ceiling stain - it was as stupid as his 8th graders.)

After 15 laps around the track, he then had to get the kids through afternoon Economics Finals without choking any of them to death (Ralph in the fourth row was always trying to cheat. That kid had problems.) He was so exhausted that he could puke red on these Economics exams and call them graded. (Seriously, Greenberg, Marginal Productivity cannot increase at q=-2. How the hell did anything increase at q=-2, even.) Bobby sat there, trying to come up with motivation to grade the next exam paper, but even glancing at it from the corner of his eyes the paper looked unbelievably overloaded with words. He taught Economics. Why were there that many /words/. Bobby sat up finally driven by his momentary curiosity, and read aloud.

“---as a rite of passage marking a boy's entrance into adulthood, as a form of sympathetic magic to ensure virility or fertility, as a means of enhancing sexual pleasure, as an aid to hygiene where regular bathing was impractical----What the granddad’s frozen hell is this thing?” Bobby dropped the paper, before summoning up enough courage to squint down at the question to which this answer was for. “…Cutting off the foreskin of your penis is really not an answer to Monetary Inflation. What the peacock is this kid on?” (It should be noted, nobody else was in the room. Bobby just conversed with himself on a regular basis to upkeep a certain level of sanity.)

But---Bobby was so incredibly exhausted right now, and these Economics papers sucked balls. He held up that oddly enthusiastic paper and squinted at it again. It was now outlining penis sizes, making reference to genetic theories about sizes of foreskins and its correlation with sexual pleasure in great detail. Bobby felt an unreasonable stir in his low-hung trunks.

This was an exhaustion boner. It had to be, because there was no comprehensible reason for Bobby to be feeling a little hot and bothered right at this moment. His head was spinning, his muscles were sore, his student’s exam was weird, and his cock was filling up as surely as the fat in his arteries (he had to watch out for his cholesterol this year, seriously messed-up stuff).

“Okay! Okay fine! Not like I’m not a mostly healthy man. Exhaustion boners are allowed, you hear me?!” Bobby said to his ceiling stain challengingly, as he tossed the red pen onto the coffee table and reached into his trunks. His thoughts flashed back to the answers earlier – ‘the foreskin contains nerves, and if you roll it back and forth, it stimulates the frenulum’ (What the hell was a frenulum? Bobby wasn't cut and even he didn't know what the fuck that was.) (The answer proved true, though, the fourth time he rolled his foreskin back, his whole dick was throbbing in wake.)

“---Who wrote this shit anyway----ahh…are you kidding me? I’m jerking off to Bilinski’s economics paper. This is such messed-up crap.” He said this, but his mind unhelpfully offered a flashback to the Bilinski kid’s large mouth.

\----yeah, okay, when you’re jerking it, almost anything would do. That large and pink mouth would definitely….

But wait, Bobby Finstock was not a pedo-Coach! Bobby quickly attempted to whack away the frankly irritating thoughts about his Lacrosse bench warmer (he swore he was going to stay at least ten feet away from the Bilinski kid the next time he saw him), but before he could win victoriously over his over-exhausted mind, there was wetness in his palm and stars in his vision. Fucking Bilinski. Now he had to go wash his trunks and everything.

**24**

****Pairing:** Derek/Stiles  
 **Warnings:**** n/a

Derek stands in the doorway to the kitchen and just... _watches_. Stiles is at the counter, naked but for his red hoodie, and the light of the rising sun shines through the window, casting him in an ethereal glow.

"I know you're there," Stiles says without turning. "You can't sneak up on me anymore."

"Wasn't trying to," Derek replies, walking into the kitchen and wrapping his arms around Stiles. He rests his chin on Stiles' shoulder and places his hands on Stiles' torso, fingers splayed so he can touch as much skin as possible.

Stiles rolls his hips, pressing his ass back against Derek's cock. It would be nothing to slip inside him right here, to bend him over the counter and fuck him until he can't move.

"Do it," Stiles moans, displaying the uncanny aptitude for reading each other they've both been experiencing recently. He leans his head back onto Derek's shoulder and reaches a hand behind him to grip Derek's cock, quickly working it to a hardness that's never far away these days.

Derek slides in easily; Stiles is open and wet with Derek's come from not even thirty minutes earlier. He presses in deep, as close as possible, and Stiles' head falls forward as he braces himself against the counter.

He wonders if it'll always be like this. This near-constant _need_ simmering just under the surface, only held back with conscious effort on both their parts.

Between breaths, between thrusts, Stiles whimpers out words of encouragement.

"Yes, Der— fuck me, fill me," he sighs. "Wish you could always be in me. Want to always be touching you."

Derek can't keep his mouth off of Stiles' neck, licking and sucking and biting at it, worrying the skin until it's heated and red. Rolling his hips, he fucks Stiles slowly, focused on keeping them as close together as possible, and pressing in as deep as he can with every move.

"More," Stiles begs. "C'mon, Derek."

His heart is racing, he's burning up with this neverending _urgency_ that consumes him to be near, around, _in_ Stiles all the time. His hand flies to Stiles neck, pulling Stiles' back flush against his chest. Stiles' head flops back, presenting his throat to Derek without hesitation. Stiles' heartbeat—his blood—pulse against Derek's fingers wrapped around his throat.

As much as he wants to keep up this slow, languid pace for _days_ , Derek's balls begin to tighten, and his gut burns with the need to come, to fill Stiles up with more than just his dick.

He picks up his pace and lets his fingers twine with Stiles' where they're jacking his cock with increasing speed.

The kitchen is filled with the sounds of fucking—Derek's pelvis slapping Stiles' ass, the obscene squelch of lube and come as Derek pounds his dick into Stiles, Stiles' harsh breaths as he begs for Derek to fuck him harder and harder.

"Come for me, Stiles," he moans into Stiles' neck as he twists his hand around the head of his cock. "Come on."

Moments later Stiles stills, fingers in a white-knuckled grip on the counter, ass clenching hard around Derek's dick. He practically wails Derek's name as he comes, and Derek can feel the vibrations in his hand, where it's still wrapped around Stiles' neck, and on his lips where they're still—he wishes _always_ —pressed to Stiles' pulse point.

And Derek comes and comes and _comes_ , the sight and scent and sound of Stiles overwhelming him.

They stand there, locked together, panting, for long, quiet minutes, before Stiles takes Derek's hand.

"Can you feel that?" Stiles asks, pressing Derek's palm to his lower abdomen. "Can you feel it, Derek?"

He inhales deeply and centers himself, focuses on the call of Stiles' magic that thrums in his own veins, and has since Stiles got a new body.

It's faint at first, overshadowed by Stiles' magic, but soon he realizes the quiet vibrations he's feeling aren't actually coming from Stiles. They're coming from—

"Fuck, Stiles."

"You feel that?" he asks. "That's _our_ spark."

**25  
 **Warnings:** ** implied reckless sex. lack of communication. underage for california, off screen major character death **  
 **Pairing:** ** derek/stiles **  
 **Notes:**** none. should be clear through the story.

Derek grabs the guy by the scruff of his neck, doesn't give him time to get his pants up. Growls, "Get lost," and he's running, holding his trousers as he goes.

Stiles is pulling up his own jeans, pale ass disappearing behind denim, belt buckle roughly done up while glaring at Derek. "Why the fuck did you do that?"

"Because you're worth more."

Stiles's glare intensifies. "Fuck you. I can do what I want."

He walks out of the alley, but not back into the club. Derek drives behind him, keeps his distance, makes sure he doesn't crash. Someone's got to.

*

Derek can recognise guilt, can recognise loss, and he sees it all in Stiles. It figures that he'd take the same route Derek did.

He catches the scent of Stiles, the smell of desperation and despair in the grocery store. He follows it down until he finds him, standing in front of the condoms.

"Oh, you." Stiles turns back to the shelves.

That's it. That's his greeting. It's more than he was expecting.

"Don't you kids get condoms for free?" Derek remembers being Stiles's age, remembers going red as people kept shoving handfuls of free condoms at him.

Stiles shrugs. "Not if you don't want your dad to find out."

"There's normally plenty of free ones in clubs."

Stiles shrugs again, still not looking at Derek, there's a slump to his shoulders that's just... it's wrong.

"I'm not always in clubs."

And that sends up a million red signals. If Stiles is still having thoughts about being safe then he's doing better than Derek.

"Go wait in the car."

Stiles balks. "I told you the other week, I can do--"

Derek grabs a couple of packs of condoms.

"What are you doing?" There are dark smudges under his eyes, and his hair is dirty and unkept. There's a hint of someone else's come there, poorly washed off behind his ear. More than one person. More than just his ear.

"Car." Derek gives him a shove and he's going, throwing suspicious glances over his shoulder.

*

If it hadn't been Stiles the nogitsune was possessing, Derek thinks it would have hit hard, but maybe they'd be able to get through this. They're not that lucky, no one in Beacon Hills is.

Stiles is leaning against his SUV, waiting, when he gets out of the store. Derek shoves the bag at him, tells him to, "Get in."

"Great, so that's the catch, I've got to put up with another fucking lecture from--"

Stiles's mouth tastes like ass, unfortunately not figuratively. Derek doesn't give him a chance to part his lips, to take it slow, he pushes, he takes, because he knows this is what Stiles needs.

When he tells him to get in this time, Stiles doesn't say a word, but he gets in the car.

*

It still hurts being in his loft, hurts seeing the place where Boyd died, where he was... It's why he keeps it, he can't let himself completely forget, but he can move on, at least a little. At least he's not trying to destroy himself anymore, not like Stiles is.

Derek pulls open the door, gestures for Stiles to enter first, sliding it closed feels so very final.

"If you're going to try and tell me it wasn't my fault again--" He's ready to fight, itching for it.

"Why would I? I bet everyone keeps trying to tell you it's not your fault."

The look catches him off guard, he knows Stiles is hurting, but for a second it's all there on his face, and it's painful to look at. He's seen it too many times in the mirror.

"My face was the last thing he saw." His voice breaks a little. Derek wonders if he's said his name since it happened.

"I know." He runs a hand over Stiles's face, smears his scent over the others clinging to this kid.

One tender moment that's for him, because that's not what Stiles needs. He grasps hold of Stiles's hair, pushes him to his knees right there next to the door.

"Take it out and suck it." The look Stiles gives him is half resentment, half relief.

This is the only way Derek knows how to take care of Stiles. He knows Scott would find a better way to fix this, but Scott's not here, not anymore, and this is the best Derek can do.


	2. Group B (with warnings)

26  
 **Warnings:** amnesia, allusion to rimming, more Derek man-pain (I'M SORRY, FOR REAL)  
 **Pairing:** Derek/Stiles  
 **Notes:** this is a combo of the Sterek fandom's, "They totally had something going on over the summer!" hopes (between S2 and S3), and the speculation that the Alphas were fucking with peoples' memories.

 

Despite his loyalty to Scott, Derek can recognize Stiles' talents. Might even go so far as to say there's a thread of trust between them. It helps that Stiles seems to care about Erica and Boyd almost as much as Derek does. Too, he has the connection to the sheriff's department. They can track down leads the deputies can't or won't. Makes life easier and harder, but at least they're doing something.

At least Derek has honest help.

+

_i left you some info_ the text reads. _at the station. have to go to a job interview rme_

A stack of real estate ads isn't what Derek's expecting, but he can admit it's something he should consider. 

Stiles even went so far as to highlight all the apartments with free WiFi.

+

Stiles stares at the wall with the hole in it, one hand sifting through his longer hair. "Are you sure I included this one?"

+

Mid-July turns everything hot and humid, yet Stiles insists on his layers. Except his shoes and socks. The floor is concrete and even Derek can't walk around barefoot, but there Stiles is, his knobby toes exposed to the cold, tapping to a beat Derek can't hear.

It takes a moment for Derek to shake himself out of staring at Stiles' vulnerable ankles, feeling rather Victorian for how distracting they are.

+

The tension only grows in August, from a combination of the heat and still no sign of Erica and Boyd. Stiles shows up almost every day, and a part of Derek wants to ask about Scott, but he can't quite make himself say the name yet.

In the relentless heat and humidity, Stiles loses his armor one layer at a time, like the world's slowest striptease. Derek has seen Stiles in only t-shirts before, shorts at his lacrosse games, but this seems more. Combined with how easy they are together, trading snark like it's a reflex, the slow-building trust, Derek feels want for the first time. Finds it hard to tear his gaze away from the quiet definition in Stiles' arms and stomach, the soft fuzz beneath his belly button.

This slow simmer of attraction is new and a little intoxicating.

+

Derek should be worried that there's been no sign of the alphas, not since the stylized triskele on his door, but Stiles is good at distraction. Especially if his mouth is involved, the plush, wet heat of it sinking onto Derek's dick. Derek gets lost in the helpless sounds he makes, the liquid want in Stiles' eyes. He even forgets his own name, for a moment, when Stiles mouths at his balls and his tongue darts into the dark space behind them.

By the time Derek recovers, he's got Stiles' come splattered over his stomach and Stiles sitting next to him in the bed, a dusty book spread open in his lap.

Stiles grins. "The benefits of ADHD."

+

The more time passes, the more physical the sex, the both of them taking their frustrations out on each other. Guilt has Derek holding onto the scars Stiles leaves behind, a reminder of what they're working toward, how little time they have left before their twisted summer idyll is over.

They don't talk about where this is going. Derek accepted, from the first kiss, that whatever this is would have a fixed end date. He's not going to beg to continue. 

He can't.

+

The day before school starts, Stiles drops by, later than usual. Derek's in the kitchen, so he doesn't see Stiles at first, only hears the polite distance in Stiles' hello. Derek doesn't think anything of it until he wanders into the open living area to fetch a new book from his desk. That's when he sees Stiles, his back to Derek, head bowed low over something in his lap. Derek's steps falter at the shadow there, at Stiles' nape, and he can't quite bring himself to close the distance, knowledge heavy in his gut.

It takes a few minutes for Stiles to notice Derek frozen behind them, and when he twists to look, there is no intent there. No want. None of the teasing warmth Derek's felt in the last few weeks. It's all business, his smile crooked, confused, but safe.

+

Later, Derek thumbs over the scars, once, and decides everything's as it should be.

 

\-------------------------

27  
 **Warnings:** none  
 **Pairing:** Boyd/Erica  
 **Notes:** Erica survives the vault.

Boyd didn't remember much after they got out of the vault. He remembered the pull of the moon, how he couldn't stop the shift, the hunger that flooded his veins. He knew Erica was there, running with him, feeling the euphoria of their wolves for the first time in months. And then he remembered waking up in Derek's loft beside Erica, relief flooding his body at seeing her beside him. Whole. Alive. Free.

They'd left later that morning, finding their way to Boyd's empty house. Once behind his locked bedroom door, they let themselves celebrate, arms wrapping around each other, lips finding one another's. They may have been werewolves, but Boyd was nothing if not gentle. Careful fingers threaded through Erica's blonde curls, cupping the back of her neck as he tugged her in for a hungry kiss.

It wasn't their first kiss, but it was the first one in months that was more than a quick peck or a press of lips to a forehead for comfort. Erica easily pushed back, arms sliding around Boyd's waist, tugging him close, like she was as desperate as Boyd was. 

They fell into bed together, arms and legs tangling together, lips never drifting apart. They stayed like that for a long time, just kissing and touching, remembering the way their bodies fit together, reveling in the fact that they had lived, that they were still together. It was Erica that had started escalating things, her anxious fingers tugging and pulling at the hem of Boyd's shirt, shoving it up and over his head, before following suit with her own, her bra hitting the floor shortly after.

Boyd never got used to this, having Erica to himself, seeing her like this, being able to touch and kiss freely. He loved it, loved her, if he were honest. He'd gladly tell her if she asked. But Erica never asked; he wondered if she was afraid to hear a lie. 

He ran his hands over her body, down her back and up her sides before he let his fingers wander over the soft skin of her breasts, the pads of his thumbs brushing gentle circles around her nipples until he felt them stiffen. He felt Erica shiver against him and he smiled, burying his face in the crook of her neck to hide it, secretly pleased at the reaction.

Erica's hands were working open his pants, pulling the zipper down before tugging them down his legs, his boxers quickly following. His heart raced as he lay naked on the bed, watching as Erica stood up and finished undressing herself, just as gorgeous as the first time he saw her. The smile she offered him, almost shy, made his chest feel tight before it was gone, replaced with something predatory. Erica reached into his drawer and dug out a condom, opening it while she crawled into the bed, straddling his thighs.

Boyd reached out and rested his hands on her hips while she guided the condom over his cock, breath hitching at the contact. And then she was moving, guiding him inside her while she lowered herself down, his fingers tightening on her hips minutely while he tried not to let the feeling of Erica tight around him overwhelm him. It had been so long that it was all Boyd could do to hold himself together just a little longer, to let Erica take the pleasure she deserved.

Soon enough, Erica began to rock her hips in a slow rhythm, sending wave after wave of pleasure crashing through Boyd's body. He moaned softly, one hand reaching down between them, thumb sliding along her slick folds, finding her clit and teasing it as she moved, letting the roll of her hips determine the pressure. It wasn't long before they were moving together, rocking and gasping, drawing every last bit of pleasure they could from each other. They whispered promises to each other into the space between them as Erica shuddered above Boyd, her body tightening around him in her release, dragging him right along with her. His fingers gripped her hip while he came, pressing his thumb to her clit through the last waves of her orgasm.

After, they collapsed against each other, breathless and tired. Boyd pressed kiss after kiss to Erica, her cheek, her hair, her forehead, whispering as he did, finally letting her know how he felt. That he was grateful for her. That he was happy. That he loved her.

 

\-------------------------

28  
 **Warnings:** n/a  
 **Pairing:** Chris/Derek  
 **Notes:** Scott bit Allison right before her death.

“Are you going to be okay?”

Allison nodded her head. Her bloodstained clothes were torn where the sword had stabbed her, but the skin under it was only marked with a faint scar that seemed to be receding even as he glanced at it. Chris cupped her face with his hand and kissed her forehead.

This was against everything he had been raised into, an insult to all traditions, a disservice to every hunter who followed their unwritten rules, including his late wife.

Chris was so happy he felt lightheaded.

“I’m going to step out for a bit. I’ve got my phone with me, alright?”

Already lying back against her pillow, eyes half-shut, his daughter gave a sleepy nod. Even a werewolf would get drowsy from healing a wound that severe.

Chris checked that the phone was in his pocket and shut the front door gently behind himself. After descending in the elevator, he stepped out into the night, breathing in the fresh, crisp air.

“You should have taken a jacket.”

He jumped, hand landing on his concealed gun, but relaxed when Derek stepped out of the shadows.

“Thanks, mom,” he said dryly, turning his gaze to the grey wall of apartment buildings over the street. He wished he were a smoker just to have something to do with his fingers. He hadn’t slept in days and the adrenaline was finally waning.

“Is she going to be fine?”

“Yes.”

Chris sat down on a knee-high wall surrounding ailing decorative plants, his back to the road. Derek was staring at him, but Chris had already gotten used to that.

“You were worried,” Chris said. “Why?”

“I’m not a monster. Allison had nothing to do with the fire and neither did you.”

“Did you check my heartbeat?”

Derek shook his head.

“I think you could probably lie to me, but you wouldn’t. I think you stand by the things you do.” Derek approached him. “Are you fine with what happened?”

Chris glanced at him. “Yes. I’d rather be a better father than a better hunter.”

If you wanted questionable choices, accepting his daughter’s transformation in exchange for her survival was probably on the lower end. It went against century old teachings, but Gerard had taught him many stupid things and his wife’s suicide had driven home to him the point that he didn’t want to lose someone for nothing anymore.

However, there were no good excuses for letting an ill-tempered werewolf almost half his age pull him up into a kiss (again and again, like he had for weeks now) besides the fact that something fundamental had been broken in Chris a while ago, right around the time he found out his sister had killed a family and his father would have murdered Chris’ daughter. With Derek, though, that was alright, enough. Chris’ family had almost destroyed Derek, too.

“We can’t go upstairs, Allison will hear us now,” Chris said, stopping Derek when he reached for his belt.

“Who said anything about going upstairs?”

Fair enough.

They ended up on the old sofa that had been dumped in the alley behind the house by a neighbour weeks ago. Derek nuzzled closer and pushed against him until he was on top of Chris. Soon, the hunter had both their manhoods in hand, Derek rutting against him, his claws ripping the armrest to the left and right of Chris’ head, springs creaking under them.

Chris stared at the sky, seeing a few stars despite the light pollution of the city, a plane passing overhead. He smelled mouldy fabric and the musty scent of leaves clinging to Derek and realised how goddamn difficult everything would have been if Derek hadn’t been there. Gently kissing the werewolf’s neck, lying on that rotting couch out in the night, he felt an overwhelming gratitude to the world.

 

\-------------------------

29  
 **Warnings:** semi-public sex  
 **Pairing:** Jackson Whittemore/Stiles Stilinski, mention of Scott McCall/Stiles Stilinski  
 **Notes:** When Stiles refused the bite, Peter gave it to him anyways; refusing to submit to Peter as his alpha and angry for having the choice taken from him, Stiles ended up being the one to kill him. Now the town alpha, Jackson starts to hound Stiles for the bite instead of Scott.

"A bite?"

The last player has left the locker room and Stiles is alone with him.

"A _scratch_?"

Jackson steps closer, too much into Stiles' space, smell too pungent, heartbeat too loud, presence too there, too _all consuming_ , the way Jackson has always been all-consuming. It was too much to deal with before, but now?—now it's making Stiles dizzy, his head reeling as he tries to get away. He only manages to back into a row of lockers, the force of his stumbling sending a shudder through the entire length of the metal.

Jackson just smiles, like he no longer needs proof to justify his requests. "I know what you are, Stilinski." He steps closer yet, and when Stiles looks up, jaw set, eyes hard, he's practically nose to nose with this bully; this blind, stupid conquistador, storming the distance from Stiles to the alpha inside of him, licking its lips. Irresponsible. Prowling, jaws open.

Stiles reaches up to shove Jackson back, knows that he could, but Jackson grabs his wrists and he lets him. Breathes hard through his nose, knows that Jackson is enjoying himself by that _stupid smell_ he's giving off. Jackson leans in close and whispers, and it sounds like water crashing in his head. "C'mon, Stilinski," he murmurs, tongue slipping out to slick his lips, and _oh_. Oh _yes_. That can be _exactly_ what this is about. "You can't honestly say you've _never_ wanted to bite me before."

Stiles' head turns a little faster than he expected and that makes him dizzier, or maybe kissing Jackson Whittemore just has that effect on people.

But that Jackson acts like he expected this, hand already up around Stiles' neck, forcing him closer (forcing _nothing_ , Stiles could pull away if he wanted to)—that's infuriating. Notwithstanding the hints he'd been dropping, Stiles had thought that he'd finally had the advantage.

Unexpectedly, it's Jackson overwhelming _him_. Stiles has some wicked sense giving him a premonition of the way it feels to have Jackson's hands on him before they even are, and Stiles' hands, in the same moment, fly to the elastic waistband of Jackson's athletic shorts.

Sensational. Something Stiles would never have assumed. How much more it is to feel Jackson with these heightened senses, with this hatred between them. So different from when he did this with Scott, back before the bite. So much heavier. So much more complicated. The dark pleasure of wanting to not want it.

But when Jackson takes another step towards him, Stiles readily hooks his leg up, pulling him gently closer. Jackson grabs him by the thigh, hoisting him up, and his last foot is no longer touching the ground. He wraps his other leg up around Jackson's waist and snarls a mean look, hoping his eyes are glowing. "Aren't _I_ the alpha here?" he spits accusingly.

Jackson just smirks and pushes a hard kiss into his throat. "You're not _my_ alpha yet."

Cocks together, trapped in a hallway of hipbones. Stiles reaches down and takes them in a single grip, working the flesh hard against one another, tearing the breaths right from their stomachs. He moans when Jackson sinks a finger into him, warm, wet. Squirms on it, working hard not to bite into Jackson's shoulder like he wants to. Like Jackson wants him to. Each loud breath he takes is spiked with a growl, the low rumble of sound echoing every grunt and sigh. Decidedly animal.

Jackson comes first, something Stiles chalks up to werewolf stamina because that's never happened before, but what it means that they sink to the floor and he's sitting in Jackson's lap before he can finish. He does, pulling furiously at his own dick and trying _really_ hard to not make eye contact with Jackson, who watches him with this superior, what-an-interesting-lab-experiment kind of way.

He finishes with no names on his lips, no names in his head, just Jackson's face right there, lips almost touching. In a very Stilinski move, he wipes his dirty hand on Jackson's jersey, but Jackson doesn't say anything. Just scowls and hits him on the arm. Stiles hardly even feels it.

"I'm not giving you the bite."

Jackson raises his eyebrows, but doesn't seem bothered. "I'll give you some time to think about that." Jostles his way out from under Stiles, landing him hard on the concrete floor.

Stiles huffs out a breath. Of _course_ this is going to be a _thing_.

 

\-------------------------

30  
 **Warnings: Incest, Dub-con, Somnophilia**  
 **Pairing: Derek/Peter/Stiles**  
 **Notes: Peter's still the Alpha.**

Stiles is Peter’s only bite. He always takes a certain pride in that, lets himself preen when Peter calls just him over, when Peter smiles at him, when Peter purrs praise. There’s Derek, too— the start of a pack. Needy Derek, a born wolf. Loyal to a fault. 

But Peter doesn’t want that. 

Peter wants strong, smart. Confident. Stiles never was those things. He was the goof who tripped over his feet at the cross country meet, the loser Lydia constantly turned down, the kid with the meds whose Dad called him home at midnight while everyone else snickered. 

The moment Peter’s teeth sunk in the world was different, blazing in technicolor, shiny and new. There’s the curve of Lydia’s smile, just for him. Coach’s exhalation as he barks out _Stilinski, first line_. Stiles fills out the shoulders of his t-shirts more fully, now. It makes him swagger a little, makes Scott’s asthmatic cough seem so pitiful. And the way Scott’s puppy-dog eyes turn to jealousy excites Stiles in a way he knows is not nice.

But of all the things Stiles is now — powerful, sleek, confident, clever — there is that _pull_. That animal urge to belong and succumb pooling somewhere deep, building slowly. It tugs him in circles until the full moon waxes, high and white in his window, and he winds up at his Alpha’s door with a hard cock and clenched hands.

The sensation hangs on his skin like the press of too-humid air, warm as blood on his tongue. Stiles shakes with it, and Peter takes one look at him and beckons him in. Derek’s already there, wrapped up in the sheets and naked, and that makes Stiles turn large, hurt eyes to Peter.

Peter smirks and raises an eyebrow as if to say _You still want it?_ And yes, of course Stiles does. Even if it hurts to be second.

“Roll him over,” Peter says, and Stiles obeys without thought, his new strength making it so easy. Derek is pliant in his sleep, muscles loose and limbs sprawling. His skin looks pale in the dim light, smooth and unblemished, but Stiles knows that claw marks fade fast.

“Tired him out,” Peter says by way of explanation. “Go ahead. Feel how loose he is. How ready he is for you.”

Stiles peels back the sheets and Derek doesn’t even twitch. The swirling black lines of his tattoo are bunched slightly between his shoulders, legs parted, the base of his balls visible between their easy spread. Stiles lays his hands on the backs of Derek’s knees and slides upward, feeling the coarse hair beneath his palms. Derek’s breathy sigh makes Stiles vividly aware of his drooling cock inside his boxers and Peter’s eyes sharp on his neck.

“Don’t be shy, Stiles. We’re Pack now. This is what Pack does on full moons.” And Stiles has never heard that before, but there’s a lot of things about wolves he’s never heard of and still he does them because Peter says so.

He dips his fingers forward, rubs his thumb between the clench of Derek’s cheeks, right against that tight furl of skin. It’s wet and soft and Stiles sucks in a breath that tastes like power, and then he’s pushing in further and parting Derek with just his thumb. It slides in easily, Derek so open that Stiles is quickly fumbling with the button of his pants and shoving them down around his knees.

And there’s the pull again, that magnetic force yanking him forward, clawing out from his gut and slicking down his muscles as he pulls Derek’s hips up. Stiles lines up, the head of his cock dripping wetly, blunt against Derek’s flexing hole. He waits there, not sure why until he feels Peter’s hands at his hips, Peter’s cock warm against his back, Peter’s teeth snicking down into his shoulder. Stiles bares his neck and eases inside, Derek so relaxed in sleep that he just sinks in.

 

“That’s my good boy,” Peter praises, and Stiles swells with the words. The pull tugs him back and forth between the Alpha and the Beta, peaking when Peter parts Stiles’ cheeks with strong hands and forces his cock inward. Peter fucks up into him hard, rhythm unflagging as Stiles’ orgasm rushes over his skin, sharp and perfect. The knot in Stiles’ belly loosens, replaced by the lazy spread of warmth as Peter’s thrusts turn unhurried, Derek soft and silent beneath them.

 

\-------------------------

31  
 **Warnings:** age difference, mild dubcon  
 **Pairing:** Derek/Stiles  
 **Notes:** no Hale fire

 

Derek Hale is standing in his boxers at the fridge, drinking juice out of the carton like he just woke up. It's noon. 

Stiles stares, mouth-breathing. 

The man pauses and wipes his lips when he sees him, grumbles "What're you looking at?"

"Uhhhhhh?" Stiles says, voice cracking.

"Stilinski, get your freaky brain back in here!" Cora shouts from the living room.

Stiles swallows and ducks out, rejoins his study group. 

"I thought you were getting chips?" Jackson complains.

"Dude, _Cora_. Your older brother is so--" Stiles starts.

"Don't even say it," Cora hisses.

"-- _hot_ ," Stiles mouths, dazed. 

She groans.

*

A year later, he's more confident, finally grown into his big hands and feet, shoulders broadening out. 

"Hey, hey Derek," he says, waving awkwardly.

Derek is sitting on a picnic blanket, waiting for the fireworks to start. He frowns up at Stiles, looking confused.

"I'm...Cora's friend?" Stiles tries but then slumps away, face burning, when Derek just stares at him. 

*

He's wrestling with Cora on the floor, laughing like a dork when Derek steps over them, headed out the door.

Stiles blushes, distracted, and Cora pins him with a "You weakling, Stiles!"

Derek smirks.

Stiles flushes in embarrassment, goes slack until Cora lets him up and then he sits there with his head in his hands. Derek's car starts outside.

"Hey, you ok?" she asks, uncomfortable.

"Yeah," he mutters. That's it. No more crush.

*

Senior year, he's inhaling a sandwich by himself in the diner when Derek nudges through the door, looking devastatingly attractive in his leather jacket. Stiles looks back at his book, sighing. 

It's been two years since the last time he made an ass of himself in front of the guy and it still smarts.

He's deep in _The Martian Chronicles_ when a plastic-wrapped sweet bun is thumped down by his elbow. 

He looks up in surprise at Derek's retreating back.

*

They have their graduation party at Hale Pond. Someone draped Christmas lights on the trees. From the wooden platform in the middle of the pond, Stiles can hear the whir of the generator, a loon laughing somewhere in the dark.

He lays out there under the moon for a long time, breathing in the night.

And then the wood underneath him creaks and dips at the edge and he looks, gapes as Derek Hale pulls himself out of the water, dark hair slick to his broad chest.

"Uhhhhhh--" Stiles says, sitting up. They meet in the middle and Stiles jolts as pond-cool hands touch his face. 

"Goddamnit, Stiles--" Derek hisses and then they're 

_Kissing?_

He's being kissed by Derek Hale. And it's _soft_. So sweet and warm it makes Stiles shiver.

They break apart and Stiles makes a confused sound.

Derek is drawing in air like he's drowning, his big, damp hands drifting down to Stiles' shoulders, feeling. Clutching. 

"What?" Stiles blurts and then they're kissing again, this time with _tongues_ , Derek ducking down to take more, to angle in for something richer, deeper.

When the part once more, Stiles is gasping. 

Derek drops his forehead to Stiles' bare shoulder, mouth tagged open and hot there, tasting.

Stiles' fingernails dig into the wood float. 

"The day you got all big enough for me to look at you, you stopped looking back," Derek growls into his skin, tongue lashing. Stiles hisses, nipples peaking. "Jesus, Stiles. I've been head over heels for you for 2 years but you wont _look_ at me."

Warm breath moves down his chest while Stiles arches, confused and quaking in his body, a strangled sound in his throat when Derek gets to his abs and kisses there, tender.

"Oh god--" Stiles whimpers and drops back on the float with a _thunk_ as a hand slips into his trunks. 

Derek settles close, a hot line at his side, and breathes damp and messy at Stiles' throat. "Stiles, is this ok??"

And then a warm, calloused palm is petting his virgin cock and Stiles is making this wild, sobbing sound.

"Ok?" Derek begs and Stiles nods enthusiastically, tears in his eyes and face screwed up in pleasure as the love of his life tongues behind his ear and strokes him off eagerly. 

 

\-------------------------

32  
 **Warnings:** none  
 **Pairing:** Chris/Derek  
 **Notes:** Instead of accepting her death, Scott tried to turn Allison and it worked. The rest of 3B happened like canon, but now Allison is a werewolf.

Chris pulled on his coat and absently patted his pockets feeling for each of his weapons. Once he was sure that everything was in place he swung open the apartment door only to find Derek blocking his way.

Derek crossed his arms over his chest and raised one eyebrow. "No."

"She's my daughter and I'm not going to leave her alone—"

"She's not alone. Scott's with her," Derek said as if that made everything okay. Maybe it did for Derek, but Chris wasn't a werewolf enamored by his alpha and so he didn't budge. Derek sighed and actually pushed Chris back into the apartment. "It's her first full moon and you don't need to see it."

"I can handle it."

"I didn't say you couldn't." Derek continued to manhandle Chris through the apartment and onto the couch. Chris wasn't just some pushover that could be bullied and to make his point he pulled a vial of wolfsbane out of his pocket and shook it at Derek, but Derek didn't even flinch. He just rolled his eyes and plucked the vial out of Chris' hand, placing it on the coffee table. "Chris, you don't want to watch her lose control and the last thing she needs is to be worrying about what you think."

 

Chris deflated at the words. Derek was right. Allison would be more comfortable without her hunter father watching her go through the change—especially knowing what he'd done to her mother under the same circumstances. "Fine, but I'm going to hold **you** responsible if Scott messes this up."

"He won't." Derek sounded absolutely sure of Scott's abilities and this time Chris let himself be comforted by that certainty. 

Chris glanced out of the window where the moon was just starting to rise and then at Derek, who seemed the same as always despite the moonlight bathing him. "It really doesn't bother you anymore?"

Derek tilted his head back into the shaft of light. He closed his eyes as he soaked up the moon's rays reminding Chris of a sunbather. "It's energizing."

"That’s all?"

"Everything's heightened," Derek said. "If I'm angry then the full moon makes me angrier."

Chris scooted closer to Derek, drawn by the play of light over his handsome face. He reached out to run his fingers down Derek's stubbled jaw, tracing the edges of the moonlight. "What about other things?"

Derek opened his eyes, a wolfish grin spreading across his face. He grabbed Chris' hand and tugged him forward against his chest. " _Everything_ is more intense."

Chris could feel how hard Derek was against his leg and it was enough to make him forget his indignation at being manhandled once again. "Show me."

Derek's lips crashed into his. It was a rough, unforgiving kiss full of teeth and Chris gave as good as he got, biting down hard on Derek's lower lip. Derek growled at the harsh treatment, sounding more like wolf than man. Chris hated that the animalistic rumbling actually turned him on, but his aching cock didn't care about decades of anti-werewolf propaganda. It just liked Derek—wolf and all.

He grabbed Derek's belt, undoing it with hands trained to be steady in any circumstance. He pushed Derek's pants down just far enough to get a hand on Derek's dick. 

"You too." Derek's fingers grew claws and before Chris had time to protest, he'd sliced Chris' pants open. 

"Watch it!" Chris exclaimed, but he didn't have to worry because Derek retracted his claws and freed Chris' dick with surprisingly gentle hands. 

"I've got you," Derek said as he took both of their cocks in his hand, stroking them together. 

"I know." 

**

"Dad!" Allison yelled. "I'm home!"

Chris stuck his head out of the kitchen, relieved to see that his little girl had made it through the night safety. "I'm making breakfast. How do you want your eggs?"

Allison didn't respond. She'd come to an abrupt stop and was staring wide-eyed at the couch. "Dad, are you sleeping with Derek?"

Fuck. He'd forgotten about her new sense of smell. He'd meant to break his relationship with Derek to her a lot gentler. "Allison, I've been alone for a long time and—"

Allison held her hand up. "I don't want to talk about it." She wrinkled her nose in disgust and Chris could only imagine what the couch must smell like to her this morning. "Ever. But Dad, you're not allowed to get mad about me dating werewolves again." 

"Fair enough." 

 

\-------------------------

33  
 **Warnings:** Underage  
 **Pairing:** Derek/Stiles  
 **Notes:** Starts immediately following 3b, but goes AU from Unleashed (3x04) on. It'll make sense when you read it.

 

When Derek wakes, he can’t see anything. He only feels pain, settling deep within his bones. The scent of burning fills his nostrils and he wonders if Kate plans to finally finish the job she started seven years ago.

He wants to fight back, but the battle’s drained out of him. Life has finally defeated him. 

Derek sighs, thinks of his anchor, and waits for his inevitable death.

~

He regains consciousness slowly, head groggy, vision fuzzy in the dimly lit room. It takes Derek a second to realize that he’s still alive, but instead of relief, disappointment unfurls in his gut.

He takes a moment to catalogue his surroundings. He’s lying on a cold, hard table, pillow beneath his head. Quiet voices filter into the room, but Derek’s senses are too muddled to pick them out. There’s something familiar about them in a way that makes his chest ache, but before he can put the pieces together, he passes out.

~

The next time he open his eyes, Deaton’s standing over him. He must sense Derek’s impending panic almost immediately.

“Don’t worry, you’re safe. How are you feeling?” he asks.

Derek doesn’t know how to answer. But the decision’s taken from him when he notices someone standing behind Deaton.

Boyd. He’s just watching Derek with concern in his eyes, breathing, smiling... _alive_.

Then Derek really panics, and everything goes dark once more.

~

When Derek wakes again, there are two significant differences: first, he’s strapped to Deaton’s examining table. Second, there’s someone sitting beside him, holding his wrist.

“Hey big guy, you’re awake.”

Derek turns his head to look at Stiles. The fingers are warm against his skin, Stiles’ familiar scent and heartbeat overwhelming his senses. For a second, Derek can’t _breathe_ , because this isn’t real. Stiles isn’t here, Boyd’s not alive, this _isn’t happening_.

Stiles’ eyes widen. “Whoa, calm down. You’ve been through a lot.”

“This isn’t real,” Derek insists.

Stiles stares at him sadly. “Wow, Deaton wasn’t exaggerating. Look, we’ll explain everything once you’ve healed, but for now, you need rest.”

Derek knows he shouldn’t give up so easily, but he feels safe here with Stiles. So, he sleeps.

~

Over the course of the next few days Derek learns a lot. He discovers that the alpha pack was working with Kate all along, that after Deucalion removed the steel pipe, he was taken. Everything that happened over the past few months was all a toxic wolfsbane-induced hallucination.

He learns that Boyd never died, there was no Darach, and no parental self-sacrifices. Stiles wasn’t possessed by a nogitsune and Allison’s still alive. Derek’s still an alpha, though Scott is now one too, the one and only similarity.

It’s a lot to take in, too much some days. So Derek counts his fingers, tries to breathe, waits for the other shoe to drop.

~

The loft is different from how he remembers it. It’s furnished now, no blood stains…but he knows immediately that he can’t stay there.

Instead, he buys back his family’s land. Cora never left for South America, so he works to repair their relationship while also rebuilding their former home. The pack stops by often to help, and it eases something in Derek’s chest to have them around. Stiles hovers sometimes, and Derek is strangely grateful.

Most importantly, he’s finally starting to heal.

~

“Hey, can I ask you something?”

Derek glances up at Stiles, who’s sprawled across his new leather couch.

“Back after we first found you...you wouldn’t calm down except when I was around.” Stiles pauses. “I was just...I mean...why?”

Derek considers lying, but he’s had enough of that for one lifetime. “You were my anchor.”

Stiles hesitates. “Am I still?”

“Yes.”

~

Stiles kisses Derek a week later.

~

Unsurprisingly, Stiles anchors Derek during sex, too.

Their bodies meld together, like they were made for each other. Sweat glistens on Stiles’ skin, hair matted to his forehead as he fucks Derek, and Derek thinks he’s never seen anything more beautiful in his life. Derek trails fingers from Stiles’ shoulders down to his ass, digging his nails in as he thrusts his hips to match Stiles’ rhythm.

Stiles moans, leans down to kiss the corner of Derek’s mouth, and Derek reaches up to bury a hand in his hair. When Stiles is close, he reaches down, wraps a hand around Derek’s cock, and it only takes a few strokes before Derek’s coming hot between them. Stiles thrusts into him twice more then stills, coming inside Derek like he belongs there.

(He does.)

 

\-------------------------

34  
 **Warnings/Kinks:** Voyeurism and exhibitionism  
 **Pairings:** Boyd/Erica, Cora/Boyd/Erica

Cora hugs herself on the cold cement floor, trying to fall asleep. She envies Erica and Boyd, curled together on the opposite wall. They’re fidgeting, too, clothes rustling in the quiet cell. Then Cora smells arousal, hears the drag of a zipper.

"She'll hear!" Boyd whispers. 

"So?” Erica says. “I don’t want to die a virgin. Do you?”

He doesn’t respond aloud. But Cora hears Erica’s quiet gasp, the wet, rhythmic slap of flesh on flesh. The sex smell ripens in the air.

“You guys are disgusting,” Cora grumbles, trying to dull her senses to human levels.

“Jealous?” Erica asks.

Cora snorts, turning her back to them. She doesn’t want to die a virgin, either.

***

Every morning, the Alphas toss food through the mountain ash circle, never enough. Boyd divides it evenly. They work out to keep their strength up. They talk. Cora tells them about the brother who skipped high school to come to her third-grade play with a dozen roses. 

Erica and Boyd look at each other.

“I don’t think you’ll find that guy in Beacon Hills,” Boyd says gently.

Cora glares at the wall, throat tight. They’ve already told her about _their_ Derek. The first day in the vault, Cora had pummeled Erica to the ground for the names she’d called him, before Boyd shoved in between them. She thinks about the pack she left behind in Argentina at the first rumor that Derek was alive. Do they miss Cora, or will they have forgotten about her already? She wonders if the brother she’s going to find is worth the hunger gnawing at her belly, the buzz of concentrated moonlight in her veins. She wonders if she’ll live to find him at all.

Every night, Erica and Boyd move together, while Cora glares at the floor. She hates them a little for having each other. She hates the scent of her own arousal as she listens to their quiet gasps and slick, wet sounds, smells the satisfaction rolling off them. 

"You get off on this,” Erica groans one night.

Cora opens her eyes to see her riding Boyd, tits bouncing, head thrown back in apparent ecstasy.

"On you two fucking like animals?"

“On watching us.” Erica smiles, cruel. "You smell like you get off on it. I bet you want to touch yourself."

"I can't help it if you two-" Cora starts.

Boyd interrupts. "Do it!”

"What?"

"Touch yourself,” he groans, arcing up into Erica. “You want to, right?"

Cora swallows. "Yeah."

"Then do it."

Erica’s unsure expression gives Cora the courage to unbutton her jeans. She reaches beneath the elastic waistband of her panties, circling her clit with one finger, hard and fast, the way she likes.

"I can't see," Boyd protests.

Emboldened, Cora kicks the jeans and panties free, so she's sitting in front of them wearing only her shirt. She spreads her legs, dragging her fingers through her wet cunt. The heat of Boyd’s gaze pushes her farther than she normally goes, and she shoves two fingers deep inside of herself, shudders more from his groan of appreciation than the penetration.

"Fuck, that's hot," he says, pulling Erica down hard. She grunts, eyes fluttering shut.

They finish that way, Boyd and Erica together, Cora alone.

***

“I wonder what will happen on the lunar eclipse,” Erica says, head lolling back against Boyd’s shoulder.

Cora snorts. “Nothing.”

“What do you mean?” Boyd asks, leaning forward.

“We lose our powers,” Cora says. “We’re nothing during an eclipse.”

“You mean we’re human,” Boyd says.

Cora rolls her eyes. “Same thing.”

“Born wolves!” Erica huffs, though her voice is tired, barely spiteful. Malnutrition is getting to all of them. “You and Derek think you know so much.” 

“There’s a lot I don’t know,” Cora admits, too tired to fight. 

“Like what?” Boyd asks.

She twists her ponytail, glaring at the floor. “I don’t know what I’ll say to Derek, if I see him again.” She hesitates, adds, “I don’t know if I’ll die before losing my virginity.”

Erica smiles at her, and it’s a real smile, not a catty one. She takes Boyd’s hand, twines their fingers together. "What do you say we give Little Miss Voyeur a lesson in fucking?" 

Boyd is already reaching out for Cora. She stands on shaky legs and goes to them.

35

\-------------------------

**Warnings:** Dub-con  
 **Pairing:** Boyd,Scott,Isaac,Derek / Jackson  
 **Notes:** Jackson doesn't go to London and stays in Beacon Hills. Derek allows him to join the pack, provided he submits to a little 'initiation'.

"Fuck, Boyd," Jackson yelled as claws pierced into his side. Boyd thrust into him a few more times and then let out a growl as he unloaded inside him. Jackson was bent over a table; Derek had chained his feet to the bottoms of the legs on one side and tied his hands to the tops of the legs on the other.

"You were great," he heard Boyd whisper in his ear before he pulled out. Jackson could hear and sense at least two other people in the room, but couldn't see them since Derek had insisted on blindfolding him, too.

Jackson started to relax when he felt a hand on his back and someone else lined up and pressed their cock into his hole. He tried to focus on the scent, but the sensations he was feeling and the smell of sex in the room made it difficult to sort out who it was.

"Boyd got you nice and loose for me," Scott said as he ran a hand through Jackson's hair. He was a bit gentler than Boyd had been, for which Jackson was thankful, but after about a dozen thrusts, he picked up his speed and intensity until he was pounding into Jackson's ass. The sound of their skin smacking together drowned out everything else in the room for Jackson and he couldn't make out the conversations going on behind them.

Without warning, Jackson felt Scott shudder and in the next instant he was coming. Jackson clenched down on Scott's cock simply because he could and he smiled at the groan Scott made in response. Scott pulled out of him quickly and was gone without a word.

Working to steady his breathing, Jackson braced himself for the next guy to push in at any moment. He startled when he felt skin touch against his lips. "I want your mouth, Jacks," Isaac said softly. Jackson hesitated for a moment, but he realized he probably couldn't object even if he wanted. Instead, he open his mouth and took Isaac's cock in, trying his best not to gag as Isaac pushed into his throat. Isaac pulled back, moving in more slowly the second time, giving Jackson more time to adjust as he tried to work even deeper.

Just as Jackson took all of Isaac's cock for the first time, he let out a groan that stopped in his throat. Derek - he knew it had to be Derek - had slipped in behind him and started fucking him.

"Damn," Derek muttered. "They got you nice and loose and wet, didn't they?" Jackson couldn't answer since his mouth was full with Isaac's cock, so he just pushed back against Derek's cock as much as his restraints would allow. "He's an eager one, isn't he, Isaac?"

"Fuck, yeah," Isaac replied. "He definitely knows how to take it." Isaac put a hand on the back of Jackson's head and held his cock in Jackson's throat for a moment before pulling out completely. Jackson could hear Isaac stroking his cock in front of his face while Derek started pushing in harder and faster.

"I'm gonna come," Isaac announced just before Jackson felt strings of warmth shoot across his face. Some of it landed on Jackson's lips and Isaac used a finger to push it into Jackson's mouth. "That's a good boy," Isaac said before Jackson heard him walk away.

"Just you and me now," Derek growled between breaths. Jackson felt like he was going to melt into the table. He was covered with sweat and reeked of come, but Derek showed no signs of slowing or stopping. "A pack is not a club. A pack is not a family. We're more than that. There is nothing more important."

Jackson wanted to say that he didn't understand how the events of the evening were meant to illustrate that, but he knew it was best to just keep his mouth shut. Instead he just groaned out an "Oh, yeah".

Derek made one more rough push into Jackson and came, his load joining Boyd's and Scott's. "You let us mark you and make you ours, Jackson. We're a part of you and you're a part of us. We're all a part of each other and you will need to understand that." Derek pulled out and Jackson heard him head toward the door.

"Um, the restraints?" Jackson asked.

"We'll be back," Derek answered. "For another round. Didn't think this would be _that_ easy, did you?"

 

\-------------------------

36  
 **Warnings: Underage**  
 **Pairing: Sterek**  
 **Notes:**  
It wasn't so much that Stiles couldn't sleep, so much as that he felt like he was going to fall through the floor and into further insanity if he closed his eyes too long. It had felt that way for a while, since his best friend had been bitten by an alpha werewolf and they found themselves tossed into a whirlwind of supernatural events. Now, there was a werewolf sleeping on his bed while Stiles spun slow, squeaky circles in his desk chair.  
Derek, of course, wasn't bad decoration, especially not when he refused to wear any of Stiles' too-small shirts and fell asleep sprawled over most of Stiles' bed. Danny would have appreciated the view.  
Stiles had given up telling himself that he didn't also appreciate it. There was just so much of it to appreciate; those sculpted abs, the scruff of black clinging to his jawline, the curve of his hipbone peeking out from his jeans. His hair was tousled from shifting around, and stiles found himself missing the pale blue of his eyes, even if all they ever did was glare at him.  
Sighing, he closed his eyes and scrubbed the heel of his palm over his cock. There was no way he was jacking off with Derek in the room, even if it would be to thoughts of those arms pressing him up against the wall, holding him up, those hips bucking up as Derek fucks into him.  
A small noise escaped him, and he covered his mouth, eyes flying open to check if Derek had heard. No, Stiles decided. Derek was still asleep, one hand splayed over his belly, the other tucked under the pillow. Stiles' eyes wandered up over his skin, tracing his fingers, following the curve of his body up to his elbow.  
Stiles contained a groan, running a palm over his face as he turned away and spinning his chair in another slow circle, eyes closed.  
 _Calm down_ , he told himself, repeating it slowly, carefully.  
"You may as well just do it," came Derek's exhausted voice, muffled slightly by his arm.  
Stiles startled out of his chair, attempting to both get up and get out at the same time and accomplishing neither. The crash of his chair would have woken his father, if his father had been home.  
"I wasn't doing anything!" Stiles objected from the floor. He groped one hand out, and shoved the chair away from himself. Rolling over, he clambered to his feet, only to find Derek giving him a sour glare. Stiles told himself it wasn't hot, but he could tell he was lying to himself.  
"Your entire room smells like arousal, your heartbeat shoots up every couple of minutes, and you have spent most of the last two hours staring at me," Derek told him, exasperation so strong Stiles could practically feel it man-handling him. It wasn't hot. It wasn't.  
Stiles groaned and covered his face. "I'm sorry," he said miserably. "I can't sleep."  
For a few moments, Derek just regarded him in silence, long enough for Stiles to peek out from between his fingers to see if he was about to be murdered. Derek was sitting, though Stiles hadn't heard him move, and he nodded for Stiles to come over. "Come here," he said, when Stiles remained frozen to the spot.  
Hesitantly, Stiles moved over, skirting around his chair, and moving as close as he dared, until Derek reached out and wrapped warm fingers around his wrist, pulling him over. "What are you doing?" Stiles asked, voice gone hoarse. He knew what Derek was doing, he just didn't believe it.  
"Helping," Derek said simply, tugging Stiles down into his lap, Stiles' back pressed up against his chest.  
Stiles let out a shaky breath. "Okay," he replied. "You're not going to, like, rip my throat out, are you?"  
Derek's chuckle was a pleasant rumble. "I think I can find a better use for my teeth tonight," he murmured before nipping gently at the soft skin at the nape of Stiles' neck. His hand found the hard line of Stiles' cock and stroked over it. Stiles gasped, back arching and his hands flying to cover Derek's.  
"Oh," he breathed out. As Derek did it again, Stiles' hands following the motion this time, Stiles thought he still wasn't going to get much sleep tonight, but he didn't think it was so bad anymore.

 

\-------------------------

37  
 **Warnings: character deaths (not Stiles, Derek or Peter though), mention of sexual assault**  
 **Pairing: Derek / Stiles - pre-slash**  
 **Notes: What if Stiles had been the one getting the bite and not Scott?**

The bathroom was cold, not that Stiles cared. His werewolf physique warmed him despite the cool air against naked torso. His blood would burn when his second full moon approached tonight. Stiles felt the anger, the power, the lust. It brought a need for blood only matched by the sexual desire stirring in his loins, which much to Stiles’ surprise, wasn’t just for Lydia Martin, but also for that annoying, dark, brooding beta who had warned him to stay away from Lydia during the full moon.

Everything had gone wrong since Stiles’s first full moon.

They were a miserable pack of killers: Peter was the worst. Stiles hated the Alpha for bringing him into this mess, for killing all those people --except maybe Kate. He’d thought he hated Derek, but he was wrong. What got to Stiles most was how much he needed Derek, and how right he had been to tell Stiles to stay away from Scott.

The coppery taste of his best friend’s blood lingered in his mouth. Peter later said it was Scott’s price for betraying him, but Stiles knew that wasn’t right --Scott had only meant to help.

After Stiles had pinned Lydia to the coach’s desk --ripping her clothes-- they both knew he couldn’t be trusted; the pull of the beast was too strong. Stiles left Lydia behind unharmed, momentarily reining in the beast, but he would’ve gone back that night if Derek hadn’t been there to stop him.

Stiles knew Scott wanted to keep him safe by having the Argents lock him up during the next full moon, but Kate had tortured him out of his mind. When Peter and Derek released him, it was Scott who met his gory end by the claws of his feral friend. Stiles wished that Derek hadn’t killed Allison’s dad before the hunter could put him down. Living with the memory of being drenched in Scott’s blood was too much.

That night, Peter took his final revenge and killed the rest of the Argents. For him it was over; like a true psychopath he moved on from bloodbath to pack life. Stiles didn’t mind being around Derek, but he waited until he heard Peter walk out the door before leaving the bathroom.

“Where’s that creep heading off to?”

Derek arched an eyebrow. “Scott’s mom.”

“What?!” Stiles saw red and rushed toward the door.

Derek grabbed his wrist and pulled him back. Loaded with pre-full moon aggression, Stiles shoved back, forcing him to let go. “So he gonna kill her, too?”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Derek scolded him. “He’s just into her.”

“He gets her son killed, then uses that to get laid --that’s sick!”

Derek gave an uncaring shrug. Stiles lashed out, cutting Derek with claws he hadn’t even noticed extended. Seconds later Stiles was face down on the sofa. Derek’s weight pinned him down as he twisted Stiles’ arm behind his back.

The wolf inside him protested.

“Control it,” Derek demanded.

“I can’t!” Stiles growled.

“I can teach you - but you’ve got to let me.” 

Derek eased up and Stiles immediately pushed free, only to be trapped under Derek again, held down more forcefully.

“Scott didn’t understand,” Derek said, ignoring how the name sent tears to Stiles’ eyes. “I warned you, offered my help…”

Stiles was too overcome with rage to listen. Part of him wanted help --Derek’s help-- but the other part wanted to do beastly things to Derek. There was no other way to describe it: being that close to him made him want to release the aggression inside him, but also give in to that primal lust.

At least Derek could fend him off; knowing that, Stiles felt even less compelled to restrain himself. He could smell Derek: he wasn’t as obviously lost to his primal urges.

Stiles waited for the right moment, twisting free. He lashed out, left more red streaks on Derek’s shirt while his own torso was catching blows and cuts. They fought - it was both deadly serious, and playful as they tore up the place, ripping at each other. 

It ended with Derek on top of him, Stiles instinctively baring his throat. The gesture wasn’t nearly so strange when compared to the smell of arousal in the air. Stiles wondered if giving in to the lust might drown out the urge to kill.

“Whatever happens tonight,” Stiles said, “don’t let me kill anyone.”

Derek nodded. “If I have to pin you down all night long…”

\-------------------------

38  
 **Warnings:** underage (Stiles is however many years old as he is in canon), bottom!derek, praise kink  
 **Pairing:** Derek/Stiles  
 **Notes:** set in the four months before season 3A started

They're two and a half months into their... _thing_ , whatever it is, when Stiles finally breaks.

"What is this?" he asks quietly, and tries not to flinch when the hand that's been petting his hair freezes. "It doesn't have to be anything," he adds hastily, although it kills him to say, and Derek can actually _hear_ the lie in his heartbeat. But that's fine, because he'd rather have this over nothing.

They're both still naked and a bit sweaty, which is normal, but now there's thickness in the air, tension that wasn't there before, that has Stiles' breath catching in his throat. There's a long pause where Stiles is berating himself for opening his big, stupid mouth, when Derek's hand resumes its course, scritching along Stiles' scalp. It feels so good it's hard for Stiles not to purr and burrow his face further into Derek's neck, post-coital sweat be damned.

"It doesn't have to be anything you don't want it to be," Derek says, so quietly that Stiles thinks that he imagined it for a second.

He takes a moment to parse that out in his head. "What do _you_ want?" he returns eventually, lifting his head to meet Derek's gaze steadily.

He's not prepared for the flurry of emotions that crosses Derek's face, and he's definitely unprepared for Derek to end up looking like he'd been flayed open, young and vulnerable and raw.

When Derek finally speaks, his voice is hoarse.

" _You_ , Stiles. I want you."

Stiles can't help but surge forward to kiss him then, and his heart stutters a little in his chest when Derek makes a soft, wounded noise at the back of his throat, before his hands come up to clutch at Stiles' jaw and hold on to him like he's drowning.

Stiles will never get tired of the way Derek takes everything he offers him and gives it back softer and sweeter than Stiles ever thought was possible.

And so, tonight, he turns the tables, and takes his time with Derek.

He trails soft kisses around the smooth planes of Derek's heartbreakingly beautiful body; the line of his jaw, the grooves in his hips leading down to his cock, the insides of his knees. He drags his mouth slowly against Derek's skin, whispering things like, " _beautiful_ " and " _perfect_ " and " _you're amazing, Derek, you're so good for me_ ", pressing the words into him and hoping at least some of it stays in there. It feels like hours when he finally slicks his fingers, and his breath sticks in his throat when Derek muffles a hitching sob into the pillow at the soft press of Stiles' fingers at his rim.

Stiles shushes him gently when the first finger slides in past the ring of muscle. "It's okay," he tells Derek, kissing his hip. "I've got you."

It doesn't take long until Derek is ready for another, and when Stiles brushes against his prostate, Derek whines.

" _Please_ , Stiles."

It's the first words he's spoken since his earlier admission and Stiles' own patience is wearing thin.

"Okay," he reassures Derek, sliding his fingers out and patting Derek's thigh comfortingly when Derek lets out a little noise at the loss. He takes as little time as possible to slick himself up and before long, the head of his dick is rubbing against Derek's hole, dipping in at the sweet, easy give of it.

Derek fumbles his hand back, and Stiles is confused for a moment until Derek's hand catches his, and his heart aches a little when Derek laces their fingers together.

The hot clutch of Derek's body when Stiles finally slides in is overwhelming. It always has been, and tonight, it's even more so, with Derek panting quietly into the pillow, his whole body trembling. Stiles goes slow, but the drag of his cock in and out of Derek is enough to get them both moaning, Stiles running a hand down Derek's sweaty back reverently.

They come within a beat of the other, Derek coming untouched after Stiles bites him on the juncture between his neck and his shoulder when Stiles finishes inside him.

Later, when they're curled around each other, sleepy and sated, Derek clears his throat again.

"Thank you," he says into the quiet air, like a confession.

Stiles says nothing, just presses a kiss to the sharp bone of Derek's shoulder, and for that soft, beautiful moment, they're both blissfully unaware of the shadowy tendrils of darkness curling its way out of the Nemeton.

\-------------------------

39  
 **Warnings:** none  
 **Pairing:** Erica/Boyd  
 **Notes:** Boyd and Erica are alive.

Derek and Scott find all three of their lost wolves in the bank. Thank goodness, no one’s died yet.

#

The three of them were safe. They were safe and the twins and Kali were dead and it was _Boyd_ that saved them. And they’ll fight and win (they have to win) and save the day, but not yet. Not yet.

#

Erica just wanted to take a breath, to be outside, to smell the town, to never be locked up again. She doesn’t even think she can go home until it’s over. She just escaped a real cage, she doesn’t want to be caged by anyone’s expectations.

#

Boyd was so fucking relieved. His off the wall plan actually fucking worked. He couldn’t help but laugh and twirl and just fucking howl his joy to the moon. He was out, he was alive and he had Erica.

#

Together Erica and Boyd split off from Scott, Derek and Cora. They want to run, to soar, to hide in the forest where the rest of the Alpha pack wouldn’t dare tread, because they have been dealt a deadly fucking blow and they will retreat to lick their wounds, instead of venturing deep into the Preserve where it still smells faintly of Derek’s family and now smells like their tiny coalescing pack.

They run through the trees, playfully nipping and lunging at each other until Erica finally takes Boyd down and they roll around the leaves. They tumble down the clearing not stopping until they fall into a dip on the forest floor. Boyd lands on top of Erica and manages to wind both of them.

Erica pushes him off her and closes her eyes, getting her air back. Boyd just flops down at her side, looking up at the sky. 

He looks over and asks, “Why do you have your eyes closed?”

“I don’t want this to be a dream.”

Boyd rolls over towards her and pulls Erica into his arms, snuggling and smelling her not fresh hair and says, “Do you want me to prove we’re alive?”

Erica snorts and says, “Sure, why not? We’ve hit all the classics, why not one more.”  
She twists back to kiss Boyd and lets herself sink into the kiss and just focus on the feel of his warm skin and wet mouth, his gentle hands stroking her face and rubbing her arms. It’s tender and soft and nothing like what she wants, so Erica wraps her legs around him and pulls him down.

Boyd pulls back from the kiss, startled. “You really want to go at it, right here?”

“Yeah, I thought that’s what you meant.”

Boyd looks pensive for an instant, before flashing a brilliant smile at her. “Just can’t resist me, huh, babe.”

Erica just snorts at him, “Yeah, I’m a real babe, looking like I do.”

Boyd just kisses her quiet and from there it leads into them rutting against each other. He breaks the kiss, panting, “Erica, your strength and confidence make you a babe, not how hot you dress. You’re here, with me, and I will take you on a ‘we survived shopping spree’ when we’re done.”

“Yes, yes, sounds great, now pull your pants down.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

Erica watches Boyd stand up and shuck his pants off in a swoop. She smiles sweetly and beckons him close and lets that smile curve into a wicked smirk and spreads her legs a little wider, so slick her lips glisten in the faint ambient light.

“Feel up to a fuck?” Erica challenges.

Boyd just growls and quickly kneels back down. He grabs her ass and pulls her onto his lap, while she sits up and gets her feet on the ground. Erica doesn’t bother to do more then grab his cock to hold it steady while she sinks down to envelop him in her cunt.

Between him pulling her down by her ass and her pulling up, they quickly establish a frenzied rhythm, each trying so hard to climax and just feel something amazing, something _good_ that they finish fast. Erica doesn’t bother to climb off Boyd’s cock, instead just wrapping her arms around him and laying her head on his shoulder.

They just sit in silence for a while, calming down, before Erica says, “You’ll stay with me, right, after this is all over?”

“Yes, yes of course!,” Boyd nuzzles into her hair, “Hell, after this, you can even learn to drive in my car.”

 

\-------------------------

40  
 **Warnings:** mentions of torture  
 **Pairing:** Stiles/Sam Winchester/Dean Winchester (past) and Stiles/Derek  
 **Notes:** Takes place at the end of season two, just before season three. Gerard decided to torture him rather than just beat him up, and that extra three days of being missing allowed him, Erica, and Boyd to be rescued. 

~~~

Stiles climbed the stairs to the loft slowly. He wasn’t proud of himself for bugging off after Jackson had come back to life, but he’d needed some time. Living both one of his greatest wishes (being the hero of a lacrosse game) and one of his deepest nightmares (being tortured for hours without reprieve), _both on the same day_ , had really messed with his priorities. 

He pulled a Buffy and vanished for the summer, and though he knew his pack mates were going to be angry with him, he didn’t regret it a bit.

The loft wasn’t his first stop, of course. He’d gone to the station to see his dad first, who’d pulled him into a suffocating hug then promptly yelled at him for five minutes straight for being the cause of so much worry. Stiles was sure that he hadn’t helped his situation by being utterly unrepentant about his summer adventure, but needs must. Some day he’d sit his dad down and tell him all about the functional purpose of the road trip, but that wasn’t today. His dad was blissfully ignorant of the darker forces that haunted Beacon Hills, and though Stiles knew it wouldn’t last, he was grateful for however long it laster.

Voices drifted down to him as he stopped in front of Derek’s door, and a smile crept onto his face as he hear Scott and Allison laughing, Erica and Isaac bickering, and Boyd and Derek speaking in low tones. Sounded like they’d really bonded over the summer.

Stiles’ knock, of course, cut them all off, and he didn’t wait for someone to open the door for him. He pulled the door aside and stepped through, grinning at the shocked faces that stared back at him.

“Honey, I’m home.”

Scott, of course, was the first one to greet him. He bounded across the nearly-bare loft to Stiles and scooped him up in a hug even more crushing than Stiles’ father’s. The others weren’t far behind.

“Wow, hey, oxygen becoming an issue!” Stiles huffed, laughing as he slowly extricated himself from the pack. Well, the pack minus two - Derek and Boyd, who hung back and watched blankly as everyone else petted and fondled and smacked Stiles.

“Where the hell have you been?’

“Texts are great, but not a single phone call? Seriously?”

“You look different! What happened to you?”

“Where have you been?”

Stiles laughed again as Eric dragged him to the couch.

“I followed a trail of message board discussions that led me to the people I was looking for. A couple of famous hunters named Sam and Dean,” Stiles started to explain.

“Hunters?” Derek asked, speaking up for the first time, glaring at Stiles.

“Not like the Argents,” Stiles explained, and Allison smacked his shoulder with a playful frown.

“Hey!” she objected.

“No, seriously,” Stiles said. “Werewolves are barely on their radar. They’re mostly ghost, demon, icky-things-that-bump-in-the-night hunters. I tracked them down because I needed to get a better idea of what I could expect in this stupid town, and ended up road tripping with them for a few months. Learned a lot. Including the sordid history of this town.” He gave Derek a look, remembering Bobby’s tale about Paige, but held his tongue for now.

“Really? I think it’s storytelling time, Stiles,” Scott encouraged.

~~~

It took hours, several two-liters of Mountain dew, and two boxes of microwave popcorn, but Stiles made his way through eighty percent of what he’d seen and learned, during his summer with the Winchesters. He, of course, left some of it out - especially the parts about him finally losing his virginity to Sam and Dean, who definitely knew how to share. Winchester sandwiches were probably what Stiles was going to miss most about his time away from Beacon Hills. Because it definitely wasn’t the blood.

Tired and satisfied, the pack trickled out one by one until only Derek and Stiles were left in the living room.

“You smell different. Gunpowder and healing scars and exhaust fumes,” Derek said, wrinkling his nose.

“If that’s all, consider yourself lucky,” Stiles retorted, getting up from the couch to stand next to where Derek was still leaning by the wall.

“And ink,” Derek added quietly.

“Anti-possession tat,” Stiles offered, grinning. “I learned a lot, Derek. And not just about the supernatural.”

Derek reached out and brushed his hand over the fabric-covered mark. “Show me?”

“Hell yes.”

 

\-------------------------

41  
 **Warnings:**  
 **Pairing: Boyd/Erica**  
 **Notes: Set between the end of season 2 and the first couple of episodes of 3a. Rather than Cora being in the bank vault with Boyd, Erica is.**

It’s dark in the vault. Erica can barely make out the edges of the room. She finds her way around by touch, mainly, and the scrape of her bare feet on the broken floor. There’s a musty smell to the room, something that reminds her of wet hair and burning dust. Her toes hit something soft, and she trips, tumbling to the ground. There’s a quiet groan behind her, familiar and unwelcome.

That’s how she finds Boyd.

*****

Whoever’s holding them isn’t big on food. They’re given a fast food hamburger every once and a while, tepid water in crinkled plastic bottles rolled to them from the massive door of the vault. Boyd insists she eat her fill, makes her take the first bites and sips. Erica pretends to be full long before the gnawing ache in her gut settles, forces Boyd to eat the rest. They’re both barely scraping by, but as their bodies weaken, their resolves strengthens. Anger is a banked fire in her belly, the only source of warmth besides the breadth of Boyd’s back against hers when they fight to sleep at night.

 _It’s just a matter of time_ she thinks.

*****

His hands are warm against her skin, fingers calloused and familiar. She groans into his touch, body arching up against his. She finds his mouth in the dark, holds his head steady between her palms and pulls him closer. He presses in, wraps his arms around her until there’s no space between them. She lets her hands drift, tracing the hard curves of his muscles - just a little smaller, just a little less - and fists his worn shirt in her hands. He groans, starts pressing fevered kisses to her face and neck.

“It was going to be different,” he says, whispering it into the hollow of her throat, kissing a burning line up her jaw. “I was going to take you to dinner, there were going to be flowers-”

She cuts him off with a kiss, then fumbles with his belt, fighting to get it open.

“Don’t care,” she says, the buckle sliding free. “As long as it’s you.”

*****  
The longer they go without shifting, the harder it is for Erica to keep a hold on her humanity. She starts fighting with Boyd, the two of them snapping at each other with blunt human teeth, growls escaping from their throats in thin imitation of their shifted voices. She draws blood one night, and he throws her across the room. There’s a snap, and it’s hard to breathe. It heals, slowly, but they’re wary around each other after that.

They still lie close together at night, pack overriding any other instincts that may be bubbling up.

*****

When Derek opens the door, she hardly recognizes him. She just smells fresh air and freedom, and before he can do anything, she’s pushed her way past, forced her way into the open lobby of the bank. The ground tears her feet, leaving blood, wet and red, on the white floor behind her.

She doesn’t care. She raises her voice to the sky, feels her bones shift under her skin as the wolf breaks free, and runs, her mate by her side.

Ready to hunt.

 

\-------------------------

42  
 **Warnings:** Sibling Incest  
 **Tags:** Barebacking, Knotting, Felching, Outdoor Sex  
 **Pairing:** Derek/Laura  
 **Notes:** Takes place a few months before the beginning of Season One.

They’re always so careful. You have to be when you’re fucking your brother. But in the heat of the moment, a bottle of Cutty Sark split between them and a full moon clouding their judgements - Derek knots Laura raw on the dirty, muddy leaves in the park behind their NYC apartment. 

When he pulls out, her thighs and cunt are dripping with his come. He can’t take it back, so he gets on all fours behind her and tries to suck it all out of her. 

_Bad idea._

It just gets her turned on more. 

“Fuck, Der,” She hisses at him.

She turns around, pushes him flat on his back and mounts his cock again. Rides his dick wet and messy, slapping him around when tries to grip onto her too tight. She’s still his alpha. He may have the cock in this equation, but it’s clear who’s the bottom of this relationship. 

She bends down, kissing the come from his lips as she rides him hard. He tastes salty from his own come and a little sweet from when he ate her out earlier. She bends forward, guiding her nipple into his mouth.

“Suck it,” she orders. He obliges, latching on with a hard suck and little bit of teeth. “Just like that little brother, just how I like it.” 

At that angle, Derek gets unspoken permission to fuck into his sister. He bends his knees and plants his bare feet down into the wet ground, starts fucking her in earnest. 

“Shit, that feels so goddamned good. You’re fucking me _so_ good, Derek.”

Laura takes his idle hand and leads his fingers to her face. She sucks two of his fingers into her mouth, gets them nice and wet, and then guides his fingers in-between her asscheeks. 

“Finger me while you fuck me, baby brother,” she commands. She’s so bossy. And she knows he loves it. 

They fuck like that for what seems like an eternity. Derek’s close. She can tell by his rapid heartbeat, the struggle on his face, the familiar sounds he makes when he’s about to go off. 

The city is loud, never sleeps. Laura blocks it all out, focuses in on the close sounds enveloping her - the squelching of the wet ground, the slapping of their skin together and Derek’s breathy panting as he rides out his second orgasm of the night. 

She stays seated on his spent cock while Derek catches his breath. His whole body is limp like a noodle.

Laura can feel his come dripping out of her again. Secretly, it’s a sensation she likes more than she should. 

“I guess we didn’t learn our lesson the first time,” she says as she climbs off his cock. He didn’t knot this time, so it’s not as much come as before, but it’s still a lot. 

Laura crawls up Derek’s body, smearing a trail of jizz along his chest and neck. She plants herself on his face so he can finish her off with his tongue. Her clit is swollen and sensitive, so Derek sucks on it until she paints his chin and face with her release. 

“Such a good little beta,” Laura praises. _Derek preens._

“I aim to please,” he says, with that ridiculously toothy smile he has. 

They dress in silence and make the trek back to their apartment, full moon illuminating their walk. The buzz has worn off, and Laura contemplates doing something about their little unprotected accident, perhaps going to the pharmacy in the morning. But at the same time, she loves the roulette, as well. Thoughts about expanding their pack of two in the back of her mind.

\- 

Death and fibonacci spirals on dead things are calling Laura back to Beacon Hills. She’s been under the weather, and her body is changing. Not enough for Derek to notice, but she does. Everything feels more sensitive. Smells more pungent. Tastes more heady. 

It’s faint, but Laura hears the tiniest pitter patter in the pit of her stomach. It’s barely there, but it anchors her, knowing what she must do. 

She packs a bag, gives Derek a filthy kiss goodbye and gets in her Camaro with Beacon Hills in her sights…

 

\-------------------------

43  
 **Warnings: Stilinski Family Feels**  
 **Pairing: Stiles/Derek**  
 **Notes: _What if the Sheriff was the parent that Stiles lost and his mother never got sick?_ This is based pretty much at the beginning season 1.**

Stiles’ mother walked over to him the second he came through the door. “Where have you been? I’ve told you a million times to call me if you’re going to be late, I was worried sick.”

“Sorry, mom.” Stiles muttered. In his defense, his world just got turned upside down. Scott is a _werewolf. A freaking werewolf!_

“Where were you? And where’s Scott? If you were out I know he was with you. He really shouldn’t stay out late, his mother worries enough as it is.”

Stiles bit his lip and wondered if he should tell his mother what happened last night. Would she think he was losing it? Stiles shook the thought away. No way, Claudia Stilinski has always had an open mind for weird shit. 

Last week she scolded a woman for making fun of a guy that swears he was abducted by aliens. _The universe is too big for us to be alone, honey. Besides, you should never be rude to someone who hasn’t done any harm to anyone._

Stiles took a deep breath and asked, “Mom, do you believe in werewolves?”

His mother raised an eyebrow. “Werewolf like the medical condition, the mental condition or the mythical creature?”

“Mythical creature.”

She crossed her arms over her chest and put on what Stiles called her _thinking face_. It involved a lot of lip biting and self-mumbling. 

“Yes.”

Stiles just blinked at his mother, he didn’t expect a definitive answer. “You do?”

She shrugged. “Well sweetie, there’s werewolf lore in hundreds of cultures so I assume it all came from some basic truth. So, what do werewolves have to do with _you_ breaking curfew?”

After a four-hour conversation and a pint of Ben and Jerry’s, his mother had heard the whole story.

“ _Werewolves_.” She said for the hundredth time with the same tone of amazement.

“Yup.” He popped the ‘p’.

“Wow, sorry it’s just that… Scott? Really? He’s like the least aggressive teenager in California.”

Stiles let out a bark of laughter. “You’d be surprised.”

Stiles looked over at the wall of family pictures in the living room. “Do you think he would’ve believed me?”

Stiles look at the framed picture of his father and a young Stiles. It was his 6th birthday and they went to a Mets game, Stiles was showing off they fly ball his father had caught.

His mom gave him a sad smile. “Knowing your dad, he would’ve needed proof and then some but he would’ve believed you. He was a hell of a cop too, so werewolves in Beacon Hills? Yeah, he would’ve found out somehow. It was impossible to keep a secret from John. He would always just _know_ when you weren’t telling him something. Birthday surprises were hell.” They both snorted at that.

They both fell silent for a while and then his mother scooped the rest of the ice cream into a bowl. 

“Now, the important part! Tell me about the hot wolf, the one with the _hypnotizing eyes_.” She wiggled her eyebrows suggestively and Stiles smacked his head on the table four times while his mother cackled over his embarrassment. 

_____________

“ _Hypnotizing eyes_?” Derek asked dryly. “Really?”

“Shut up, I was 17 and you were the hottest person I’d ever met.” They’d just gotten back from dinner with his mother. Where she’d insisted on telling the story of when Stiles told her about Derek for the first time. 

“ _Was?_ ” He smirked and picked Stiles up by his hips and slammed him against the door. Derek began to gyrate his hips, grinding perfectly into Stiles, while sucking a tender spot on his throat and Stiles thinks his brain just short-circuited. 

Stiles swallowed back a moan and buried his hand in Derek’s hair. “Still are.”

“Damn right.” His eyes flashed electric blue and that made Stiles dick so hard that his jeans felt painfully tight.

“Bed. NOW.”

“No.” _No!?_ Stiles opened his mouth to argue that Derek needs to get _inside_ him, _pronto_ , but he shut his mouth when Derek ripped the back of his jeans with his claws while still holding Stiles up.

He felt cool air against his bottom and Stiles let out a loud cry when Derek tapped and twisted the plug he had in him for the past three hours.

“Mine.” Derek growled and carefully pulled out the plug and replaced it with his dick.

“Yours.” He breathed.  
_____________

Stiles would always be grateful that his mother convinced him to ask Derek out.

 

\-------------------------

44  
 **Warnings:** none  
 **Pairing:** Derek/Stiles  
 **Notes:** Literally everybody lives.

Stiles is eight when he meets the Hales.

His mom is sick and his daddy cries a lot when she's in the hospital even though he thinks Stiles can't hear him, and he doesn't understand why they're there but Mrs. Hale has a nice smile and gives him a cookie so he thinks it might be okay.

Stiles is eight when he meets the Hales and finds out werewolves are real.

*

His mom's eyes glow yellow sometimes and Stiles can't get away with _anything_ but he doesn't really mind. She isn't sick anymore and that's all that matters to him.

*

He's allowed to tell Scott –and _only_ Scott – but he and his dad have to go to the Hales' with his mom once a month for the full moon. It's not too bad; Cora is fun and Laura sneaks them popsicles.

Derek is annoying, though.

*

"Ugh, I hate you," Stiles says, scowling down at where his ice cream cone is now upside down in the dirt.

Derek frowns. "I said I was sorry."

"Whatever," Stiles mutters, and stomps off.

*

When he's ten he's finally allowed to start bringing Scott to the monthly get-togethers. Scott doesn't think Derek is annoying, and Stiles feels utterly betrayed.

*

"I seriously hate you."

Derek rolls his eyes. "It's just a movie, brat. You can pick next time."

Stiles scowls and curls up in the corner of the couch, surrounded by the rest of the pack, and refuses to admit how much he ends up liking it.

*

Stiles is twelve when Derek leaves for college and doesn't bother to say goodbye.

He locks himself in his room for three days.

*

Derek comes back when Stiles is sixteen, with a bachelor's degree and the sexiest scruff Stiles has ever seen.

He punches him in the jaw and ignores the pain that shoots through his hand. "I fucking hate you, you asshole."

Derek just blinks at him, looking shocked.

*

Stiles is eighteen when Derek kisses him in the woods behind the Hale house, fierce and claiming, right in the middle of an argument.

*

"I hate you, I hate you so much," Stiles gasps, clawing desperately at Derek's back. His dick is so hard, aching as he ruts it against Derek's.

"Lie." Derek mouths at his throat, sucking a mark in exactly the right spot, making Stiles' hips stutter. 

Stiles moans, throwing his head back, spreading his legs wider as Derek slides lube-slick fingers down between them. "Stupid werewolf hearing."

Derek smirks against Stiles' collarbone and slowly pushes a finger into Stiles' hole.

By the time Derek has three fingers fucking into him Stiles is a sobbing, writhing mess. Derek just stares down at him, wide-eyed and awed, lips parted and breath ragged. "So beautiful," he murmurs, kissing along Stiles' jaw.

Stiles closes his eyes against the sudden sting in them. "Please," he begs, fingers twisting in the sheets. "Derek, _please_ , I need –"

Derek makes a noise low in his throat, hoarse and broken, and pulls back to flip Stiles onto his stomach. He glances over his shoulder, Derek leaning down to mouth at the back of his neck, his dick sliding slick against Stiles' hole.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck," Derek breathes, splitting Stiles wide open as he finally breaches him.

Stiles whimpers and buries his face in his pillow, body trembling as Derek fills him up. When he's balls deep he pauses, reaching to tangle their fingers together.

"You okay?" Derek asks quietly, nuzzling at Stiles' ear. 

Stiles breathes, and breathes. "Yeah," he says, tightening his grip on Derek's hand. "Just don't stop."

Derek rolls his hips, slow at first and then faster, pumping his hard dick into Stiles' ass. It's so fucking good, Stiles' hole stretched wide, Derek's hand still entwined with his.

Stiles comes and his whole body goes stiff as he cries out, dick pulsing almost painfully. Derek keeps pounding into him, tiny little noises breathed out against Stiles' skin, until Stiles is loose and pliant under him. When Derek finally comes he buries his face against the back of Stiles' neck and whines, loud and low and drawn out, filling Stiles with his hot release.

They stay like that until they have to move, Derek rolling to the side and Stiles reaching for a discarded t-shirt to clean up.

"I guess you don't really hate me," Derek says, grinning.

Stiles glares and Derek laughs, pulling him closer to kiss him deeply.

 

45

\-------------------------

**Warnings:** None  
 **Pairing:** Derek/Stiles  
  


“I'm the one keeping you alive. Have you noticed that?”

“Yeah and when the paralysis wears off? Who's going to be able to fight that thing? You or me?”

“That’s why I've been holding you up for the past two hours.”

“Yeah, you don’t trust me and I don’t trust you. You need me to survive which is why your not letting me go.”

* * *

“It’s not right. It’s like a…”

“An abomination.”

* * *

Stiles is shucking off his wet clothes when his window opens. He looks up startled as he see Derek slip through and step into the room.

“What do you want?” Stiles says in an tired voice not really caring if there’s an answer, “It’s been a long night and I really just want to go to sleep.”

Derek just kind of stands there for a minute. Looking unsure of what to do next, “I wanted to apologise. For earlier” he says as he stares at his feet.

Stiles looks at him sceptically, “Really, after all that?”

“Look, I know you didn't have to do that. I realize that now. I just wanted to...I just wanted to say thank you,” Derek stares resolutely at the far wall not making eye contact with Stiles at all.

Stiles looks at him for a second and then rubs his hands through his hair, “ Ah, okay, well then, you’re welcome,” he sits down on the bed. “I'm pretty sure I'm going to fall over if I don’t crash soon so I think I'm going to lie down.” 

“Um, yeah okay, I’ll be on my way.” Derek moves to go back out the window.

“Wait,” Stiles wearily drags himself up from the bed. “Where are you staying tonight? Still in that decrepit train depot?”

“Yeah,” Derek eyes him warily.

“Look I know I'm going to regret this but you can crash here tonight.” Stiles sits back down on the bed and points to the other side, “As much time as we spent cuddled together today I don’t think another few hours would bother either of us.”

Derek takes a minute and just stands there finally he sighs and pulls off his jacket, “A real bed does sound good,”

Stiles lies down on the bed and watches as Derek pulls off his shirt and shucks his jeans. He walks over to the other side of the bed with just his tight black underwear on and lies down. 

“Good night Stiles,” Derek whispers as he settles onto the bed.

“Good night Derek.”

* * *

It’s the middle of the night when Stiles wakes up completely overheated and disoriented. He looks down and see an arm slung around his middle and feels a body plastered to his back. It take a few seconds for him to realize that Derek is snuggling him. 

Stiles starts to try and wiggle his way out of Derek’s arms but Derek is having none of it and pulls him in closer as he continues to sleep. 

“Just my luck, I get the clingy werewolf cuddler.” Stiles whispers as he tries wiggling out of Derek’s grip again, “Derek, wake up. I'm not your pooh bear. Let me go.”

Derek just hold on to him. His hand moving lower on Stiles stomach. “whoa there big guy, moving a little south there. Not that I'm averse to it but I’d like a little warning first.” 

Derek’s hand continues to move lower till it’s touching the tip of Stiles cock through his shorts, Stiles squawks,“Derek! I really want you to wake up now!”

“Shh,” Derek whisper as he kisses Stiles neck, “tell me if you don’t want to?”

Stiles takes a deep breath and pushes against Derek’s hand, “I want.” 

Derek’s hand is hot and heavy as he pushes it inside Stiles shorts and wraps it around his cock. Stiles grunts as he feels Derek plays with the tip and spread pre-cum around smoothing the way. 

It only takes a few good strokes before Stiles is coming messily in his hand. 

Stiles goes lax in his arms,it takes him a few minutes to realize he hasn't done anything for Derek. he goes to turn over.

Derek stops him and pulls him back against his chest, “It’s al-right, you don’t need to.”

“But..”

“Shh, it’s all good,” Derek brushes his lips against Stiles hair and holds him tight. 

Stiles settles against him and falls asleep.

* * *

Stiles wakes up the next morning alone. He turns over in the bed and smiles to himself. 

\-------------------------

46  
 **Warnings:** Underage  
 **Pairing:** Derek Hale/Kira Yukimura  
 **Notes:** Set in a universe where Peter died in the fire, and Derek and Laura went to New York but never came back to Beacon Hills

She's going to be moving in a few weeks and it feels like something crazy. Coast to coast matters so much more than when they moved from one school district to the next because it's going to mean leaving everyone and everything behind. It'll be a new start, she convinces herself, so she decides to leave on a wild note.

There's a guy who works in one of the crazy record shops half-hidden on a one-way street that she's been eyeing up for ages even though she's 16 and he's probably twice her age, but it doesn't keep her from wanting to know how the black coffee he always drinks tastes secondhand from his mouth. He's all stubble around a cautious smile and broad shoulders in a leather jacket and she loves the way her name rolls off his tongue when he calls her about her special orders. She loves the way their names sound together: Derek and Kira. It's a crush, she knows, but a part of her wants to be that girl going from New York to California who knows all about the world around her.

It's not that difficult to get his attention, really. She wears a Rolling Stones t-shirt one day, a vintage one, and it's falling apart at the seams so she wears a red lace bra and panties and matches her lipstick to the color and goes in to ask him about a Beatles record, so sure of herself. His eyes catch on the hole under her arm and the flash of red there and then he looks her over as his brow furrows and he shrugs off his jacket. "You're a fox."

She grins and nods a little, hoping he's like so many other people who can't tell how old she is. "I was hoping you'd want to do something after work. Like, maybe me?" At this point, if he says no, well... She's leaving.

It surprises her, though, when he stalks over to the front door and locks it, turning the sign to _CLOSED_ and stalking back to her and claiming her mouth as he pushes her back against the shelving holding up the selection of 70s hippie crap with a layer of dust on it that makes her sneeze mid-kiss and laugh. The kissing is nothing new, she's not a total virgin, but the feel of his fingers on her hips and pushing up her skirt and pulling down her panties makes it feel like she's on fire. His fingernails feel sharp against her thighs as he strokes his palm across her slit and presses the heel of his hand against her clit. "I want more than that, Wolfman," she mumbles, because his expression and demeanor remind her too much of a silly movie even in that moment. She has a condom tucked in her bra just in case this went well and she pulls her shirt up to show it off, looking at him expectantly.

He growls and uses his teeth to pull it away from her skin and she's sure she's wetter now than ever before. She reminds herself that virginity is a social construct and that she's nearly had her hand shoved inside her before so this shouldn't have any lasting effect on her. That is, until he's pulled his pants down to his thighs and slid on the condom and paused with the head of his cock throbbing so hot against her vulva. "Ready?"

She laughs, breathy and too excited, and nods, spreading her legs and feeling him press into her. It's more amazing than she'd imagined, his fingers everywhere she needs them to augment what his dick is doing to her, and it lasts long enough for her to feel like it was a perfect first time. Her knees shake when he lowers her down and pulls out, tugging off the condom and knotting the end. "That was fun," she says, smiling as she notices a smudge of her lipstick on his teeth.

"We should do it again sometime," he says, but he's cautious with the emotion behind the words.

"I'm about to move," she says, fixing her skirt and panties. "Moving to some little town in California. From New York to Beacon Hills. I... needed something exciting before I went."

His eyes go wide and they look bright blue for a second. "That's... where I'm from."

"Huh." She pulls her shirt back down and smiles. "I guess it can't be that boring, then."

 

\-------------------------

47  
 **Warnings:** underage, might be slightly dubcon except Stiles loves the sex  
 **Pairing:** Stiles/Peter  
 **Notes:** What if Stiles accepted the bite from Peter but it was more than just a turning bite? AU from 1.12.

Stiles pretty much regrets it right away. The sanity it brings to Peter--he only kills Kate, after all, leaves Chris and Allison alive--and the orgasms lead to some semblance of acceptance of his new state.

That's probably due more to the orgasms, though, because Peter's mouth is incredible.

*****

On his stomach, legs spread, fingers clenched into the pillow, Stiles represses a howl of pleasure as Peter's tongue flicks around the rim of his sensitive hole for at least the twentieth time in the last ten minutes. Trapped beneath his stomach, his cock his hard and leaking and he squirms, gaining delicious friction.

A hand smacks down on one ass cheek and he yelps and bucks into the burst of pain.

It's not the first of those, either.

"Stay still," Peter murmurs, fingers with just a hint of claws digging into Stiles' hip to hold him in place as his tongue pushes past the tight anal muscles.

"Peter," Stiles gasps, shivering with need as he so wants to move, to push back, to come.

"Patience..."

"Not a virtue."

Peter snorts and the puff of air on his asshole sends a bolt of lust straight to Stiles' dick. God, he needs to come. It hardly takes any time at all anymore for Peter to get him to this place of shaky, desperate want.

Finally, when Stiles is a sweaty, gasping mess, Peter drags him to his knees and thrusts into him. There's lube on his dick, but only saliva inside Stiles and the push and pull of cock against tender tissues burns, but Stiles loves it. Free now to writhe and buck, he shoves his hips back, taking Peter all the way. His cock aches, tip wet against his belly, and he reaches down, grabs the base. He wants to come, but he knows it's so much better after a hard fucking.

Peter's all too willing to give that to him, pounding into him fast, slapping their slick bodies together. The claws are back, leaving little, bleeding holes on Stiles' hips that close almost immediately. Stiles' own fangs have dropped, but he knows better than to claw the Alpha wolf's expensive sheets, so only human fingers dig into them, give him purchase as they fuck at a wild pace.

As a human, Stiles never had sex, but as a wolf they can go for hours, through multiple orgasms. It's amazing, exhausting. In their bed, becoming a werewolf and Peter's mate is worth it. Outside of it is another story, but, on the verge of coming, Stiles can't think about that.

"Gonna come," he pants, fangs biting into his lower lip as his balls tighten and pre-cum slips down the shaft and over his fingers. "Harder, Peter."

"Bossy." Peter doesn't ever mind, though, giving Stiles free reign to say and do pretty much anything in bed--bottoming only, of course. "Come, then, I'll just keep fucking you to another hard-on."

The growled words send a bolt of lightning through Stiles and, shuddering, he jacks his dick roughly until his orgasm crashes through him. He yells, bucks wildly, and squeezes out every drop, spilling it all over his hand, his stomach, the tangled sheets.

As promised, Peter keeps fucking him through it until Stiles is moaning at the over sensitivity and his dick is hardening again. Strength returning, he fucks back and the bed bangs against the wall with the force, making his mate chuckle darkly, but not stop.

To think, all Stiles wanted was to become a werewolf so he could help Scott and Derek stop Peter.

Instead, the mating bite turned him and tied him to the Alpha and, as Stiles feels a second orgasm churning in his balls, he can't regret it.

Later, but not now.


	3. Group C (with warnings)

48  
 **Warnings:** None  
 **Pairing:** Boyd/Stiles  
 **Notes:** Scott has an asthma attack on the day that would've set off his and Stiles' epic friendship. Stiles gets paired up with Vernon Boyd instead.

“Zd—Zdzis—Stilinski and Sco—” their teacher’s eyes flick to the empty seat at the front of the classroom and she redirects, “Vernon.”

Stiles fidgets, turning around to look at a boy in the back he’s never noticed before. He waves and the boy just tucks his shoulders in further.

-

Stiles walks over when she’s done with the partner assignments.

Dark eyes squint up at him. “Your name’s stupid,” he says moodily.

Stiles shrugs. “So’s yours.” He sits down at Vernon’s table. “My dad calls me ‘Stiles’ sometimes, like my last name—Stilinski.”

He seems to consider this. “Fine, then I’ll be Boyd.”

Stiles smiles at him. “I like it.”

Boyd’s expression gets a little less grudging and he nods.

-

Boyd’s bad at sharing. Stiles hops to his feet, fed up, and demands, “Why can’t I play with anything?”

Boyd stands up, gets in his face. “Because you’ll leave and I’ll never get it back.”

Stiles stares at him, flops back down, mumbles, “I’m not gonna leave,” and Boyd hands over his Captain Planet.

-

He and Boyd outrun the evil dog a block away from Stiles’ house. They tear all the way up the stairs, slam Stiles’ door closed and collapse on the floor of his room.

“You’re a fast runner,” Stiles says.

“Faster than you,” Boyd throws back but he’s grinning.

-

Boyd and Stiles are playing on the playground, building sandcastles and moats and pretending Skeletor’s a dragon, when Boyd narrows his eyes at Stiles and says, “Teach me how to pronounce your first name.”

Stiles blinks at him but does what Boyd asks— _commands_. “Zdzisław,” he says, slow as he can.

It takes all day but when Boyd holds out his hand to walk Stiles home, he says, “Come on, Zdzisław,” with perfect pronunciation.

-

Boyd gets weird about middle school. Weird about Stiles becoming friends with Scott McCall. He keeps looking at Stiles like he expects it’ll be the last time he ever sees him. Which is stupid. They get into a raging fight about it that mirrors the one they had when they were six, only with swear words thrown in.

It ends in the same place as the last one though.

-

They sneak into an R-rated horror movie when they’re thirteen. Stiles has nightmares for a week. Boyd pretends he doesn’t but he slips in through Stiles’ bedroom window with alarming regularity over the next few days.

Stiles doesn’t call him on it, just scoots over and lets Boyd faceplant into his pillow.

-

If Boyd was weird about middle school, then high school is a thousand times worse. “This is when it happens,” he says, eyes hooded as he stares down at his tray in the lunchroom.

Stiles scoffs to cover how badly the words hurt. He waits until Scott leaves to drool after the new girl to say, “I don’t deserve that. I’ve never done anything to make you think I’ll abandon you.”

They sit in tense silence until the bell rings.

-

Boyd comes through his window when they’re sixteen with a pack of cigarettes he’s stolen from his mom. It’s stupid, smoking in the sheriff’s house, but Stiles does it anyway because Boyd wants to.

They sit on his bed by the open window and light up. It makes Stiles’ eyes water, his throat scratchy. He doesn’t like it but he also doesn’t want to seem lame. Boyd stubs his on the windowsill and tosses it out, only halfway gone. Stiles breathes a sigh of relief and does the same.

Boyd drums at his knees, darts a glance at him and then lunges forward, messily captures his mouth. Their lips smush together clumsily and Stiles pulls back, fixes the slot of them and then Boyd is pushing him down on the bed, frenetic and anxious. Stiles wishes neither of them tasted like smoke.

Boyd touches Stiles’ dick through his pants and Stiles’ hips twitch up automatically, find Boyd’s. They rut together for half a second before they’re both coming in their jeans. It’s weird, doing this with his best friend, but not any weirder than Scott being a werewolf. Boyd’s panting on top of him. He rubs his nose against Stiles’ cheek, lips on his ear, says shakily, “I love you, Zdzisław.”

His eyes widen in an instant and he’s scrambling back, looking to the window. Stiles grabs onto him before he can bolt. He kisses Boyd’s neck, right under his ear, whispers, “Still not leaving, Vernon.”

\-------------------------

49  
 **Warnings:** lack of preparation, werewolf!Stiles  
 **Pairing:** Derek/Stiles  
 **Notes:** Stiles accepts the bite from Peter

Derek can hear Stiles' heartbeat about a mile before he actually comes up the rotting stairs into the house. 

He frowns. 

There's something off. Something _not_ Stiles. 

“What did you do?” Derek growls.

Stiles stares at him. He's still in a way that Stiles is never still. It makes Derek nervous.

“I did what any smart person would do.” Stiles lifts his chin, meets Derek's eyes defiantly. Always defiantly.

Just then, Stiles' scent hits Derek. This weird combination of spice and sweat and Stiles and yet...

“What have you done?” Derek breathes. He knows though. Before Stiles says another word, he knows.

“Peter says hi,” Stiles smiles at him. Waits as if for praise.

Derek feels everything inside him freeze. He grabs Stiles, rips up his shirt to expose his hip, but no bite. He wants to breathe a sigh of relief but he knows.

He knows.

“Here,” Stiles offers his wrist, palm turned up. 

Derek wants to howl. The bite is already yellowing at the edges, teeth marks fading as he watches.

“Why?” He needs Stiles to tell him. To make him understand.

“Peter says I’ll make an excellent wolf.” Stiles watches Derek, amber gold eyes gleaming.

“You said you didn’t want to be like Scott.” Derek is holding onto hope like a tangible thing.

“I’ll _never_ be like Scott.” Stiles stares at him. 

“Then why?” Derek’s fingers tighten around Stiles’ wrist. He doesn’t miss the sudden sharp breath Stiles takes.

“You.” Stiles’ mouth curves in a smile. “I did it for you.”

Derek feels his heart punch in his chest. Too much. Too much. “No.” He’s sure.

“Yes.” Stiles is even more sure. “You wouldn’t touch the human. Not after Kate.” He steps closer, scent wrapping around Derek like a wolf’s pelt. “But you _will_ touch the wolf.”

Derek swallows hard. Stiles has always been desirable. Stiles with his pale skin, lush mouth and long neck has been a part of Derek’s dreams for months now. 

“You were never meant for this life,” he whispers, feeling a little like shattered glass.

“Maybe not.” Stiles shrugs. He’s pressed up tight against Derek now, the wolf already bringing his body temperature up to scalding. “But I think I was always meant for you.”

Derek will worry about the morality of this later, once he’s slaked his thirst for this beautiful boy.

For now though, he leans in, takes Stiles’ mouth in a kiss just the wrong side of painful.

Stiles opens up, lets him in and Derek is lost.

When he rips Stiles’ shirts from his shoulders, Derek wonders if his uncle intended this. Peter had always looked at Stiles with a little too much…everything.

Stiles is almost silent as he wrestles with Derek’s jeans. The quick pants that escape him are aphrodisiacs to Derek’s ears. The knowledge that Stiles wants him, enough to become something he purports to hate, is overwhelming.

“Stop.” It physically pains Derek to give the order.

Stiles growls at him and Derek shudders. “Why?” It’s Stiles’ turn to ask.

“I want you to be sure.” Derek knows that wolves mate for life. . He knows that if he takes Stiles now, it will be forever.

Stiles snorts. “Dude, I took the bite from asshole Uncle Peter so that I could be with you. I think I’m pretty fucking sure.”

Derek pushes Stiles to the ground then, lost to the animal that shares his body. He shreds Stiles’ jeans and shoves into him with no warning. The high yip of pain makes him freeze. “Oh god.” He feels sick.

Stiles’ fingers yank at his hair. “Don’t you _dare_ stop, you dick.” Stiles’ eyes are clear and determined. “I need to feel you inside me for days.”

He knows that he isn’t going to let anything take Stiles away. He’ll kill before that happens. He hardens inside Stiles until he feels his knot swell.

It’s then that he knows.

He’s born to be the alpha. Stiles, his mate.

“I’m going to have to kill Peter,” he murmurs against the gorgeous line of Stiles’ neck.

“Okay,” Stiles clenches around him, arms and legs and body holding him in a vice of flesh. “I’ll help.”

\-------------------------

50  
 **Warnings: Underage, Dub-con?**  
 **Pairing: Derek Hale/Stiles Stilinski**

“You can’t be serious,” says Stiles, staring at Derek and then points to the window. “You can backspace out of my room now.”

Derek frowns at him. “Of course I’m being serious, Stiles! How can you not take your own safety seriously? The fact that Scott hasn’t proposed the idea worries me.” Stiles rubs the back of his neck, uncomfortably. “You’ve already asked him yourself,” Derek presumes.

“Not so much as asked, but,” he winces, “I may have threw the idea right out there in his face with massive amounts of spazzing. If he’s clueless I’m not going to grovel and beg he sleeps with me.”

The werewolf sighs audibly. “Are you-- Do you have a backup plan?” His expression looks like he swallowed lemons.

“Not exactly….?”

“Then I will--”

Stiles starts up again. “Dude, no. I already told you to leave!” He’s angry, and he can tell Derek’s getting angry, too. Stiles can read him so clearly now, its embarrassing. 

“I won’t leave you here waiting to become a sacrifice!”

“I won’t use you that way!”

“You’re not _using_ me, Stiles!”

“I am when you’re not giving yourself a choice!”

“I chose to be here for you!”

“Because you’re taking one for the team! I won’t have you that way, Derek, you have to know that…” Stiles swallows with a dry mouth, heart hammering. Its not like he didn’t mean to say it like that, but its the first time he’s brought it out to the open when the two of them have been studiously ignoring it, how Stiles feels. Derek pauses, his mouth frozen open before the thought process kicks in and he looks confused.

“I have to know what?” Derek asks slowly, which makes Stiles nervous because that means he’s thinking. He’s putting the pieces together.

“I…” he stammers, but he doesn’t want to say it again.

Derek, bless him, tries another approach. “Which way would you have me Stiles?” His tone is sultry, eyes becoming intense and dark as he looks at Stiles with something more than having a chore. He’s looking at Stiles like he’s something he wants to devour, which breaks Stiles down into shivers and blushing cheeks, and it loosens his words.

“All the ways,” he says, and can’t stop. “I want you in my bed for days. I- I want to touch you, for you to touch me, to feel you against my skin. I want to _grind_ against you Derek, I will pull your hair and I want you to pull mine, and when you finger me I will probably come immediately, but I’m sure I could get it up again when you’re inside, fucking me, _fucking--- fuck!_ ” He’s hard, thinking about his fantasies, talking about it to the one he fantasizes about, of course he’s hard. Stiles shamelessly cups himself, stares at Derek who stares back hungrily.

“I can’t believe you’re asking me after how close we got during the summer,” Stiles groans. “You couldn’t smell me? Every time you took off your shirt, I got hard because fuck, look at you.”

Derek, eyes alternating between Stiles’ hand and his mouth, hooks his fingers under the hem of his shirt and pulls it over his head. Stiles groans, because yes, this was happening--- unless--

“Wait,” Stiles puts his hand out, yet the other is still slowly grinding against his dick. “This isn’t, for you, this isn’t just…?”

“No, Stiles,” Derek rolls his eyes as he looms forward, takes Stiles’ hand off himself to replace it with his own. Stiles moan and practically falls into Derek’s chest because, wow, its so much better with two. “This isn’t just,” he teases. “I thought the smell of you over the summer was just general. You always smell like that, like sugar and horny teenager.”

“W-well yeah.”

Derek’s chest rumbles with a low-vibrating laugh. “I’ve thought about you, you know. About fucking you or you riding me, or me riding you.” Stiles gasps, hips bucking into Derek’s hand, and he can hear Derek’s smirk when he continues, “You want that? Me bouncing on your cock, taking you so deep?”

“Yes, yes….”

“Want to start with that?”

Stiles reaches up behind Derek’s neck and pulls him down for a brutal kiss, curling his fingers tightly in the small hairs.

\-------------------------

51  
 **Warnings:** Mate fic  
 **Pairing:** Stackson  
 **Notes:** The Kanima situation was resolved a lot faster in season 2.

_“He has **nobody**!”_

_“That’s his own fault.”_

Scott and Allison were long gone by the time Jackson finally managed to get a hold of himself. The scales on his hands already faded into his skin as if they were never there. His ears rang from the way their shitty music and shittier conversation would change volume from a bare whisper to an overwhelming wall of sound. Only his sense of smell was even slightly consistent and all it picked up was the humiliating brine of his tears and the sharp cinnamon scent of Stiles in the air and on his skin. It was maybe the only thing distracting enough to keep him centered, to keep him from hurting himself in order to escape.

The door opened with a clang and he jerked as Stiles climbed in with spidery grace. A cheap pizza, and warm Gatorade on hand. He hated him.

“Food for the prisoner!” Stiles snarked and settled down across from him with a smirk. “I’d reward you for good behavior except that I don’t really care so...”

Jackson lunged halfheartedly in his general direction, hands flexing with the urge to strangle him, but was thwarted by the huge piece of cheesy pizza unceremoniously shoved into his mouth. He spat it out almost immediately and cursed, sauce flying everywhere. 

“Dude! Not cool!”

“Go fuck yourself Stilinski,” he snarled.

“Did that already today but thanks for looking out for me buddy, I appreciate it,” Stiles shot back easily as he bent down to pick up the mess. Jackson stiffened in surprise because he could smell the truth of it, could smell it on him, and it was shocking. The salt of his sweat and bitter-thick tang of cum so heavy in his nose he could taste it and his dick twitched jealously in sympathetic response. His own routine had been rudely interrupted by all the recent supernatural shenanigans and so-called kidnapping. 

“Seriously?!” Stiles squeaked and jumped back, surprised.

Jackson flushed, ashamed at his lack of control. Cruel and cutting remarks came to mind by the dozen but he was unable to voice a single one, transfixed by the pale flash of Stiles throat. Nothing was working the way it was supposed to. He could almost count the individual lashes framing Stiles eyes, could hear the scurrying of small animals in the trees above and around them, and yet he was also focused in a way that he’d never been before. For once since this mess started all of his senses were working together. There was a sound reverberating in the confines of the van, rabbit quick, and it was making his gums itch to hear it. A heartbeat.

Stiles mouth fell open on a silent “ _Oh_ ,” of understanding and Jackson watched, fascinated, as he shivered because of it. The idea that he maybe wasn’t as unaffected by the situation, or as well taken care of as he claimed to be, sent a bolt of heat down his spine. His legs fell open slowly, instinctively, and watched with predatory intensity as Stiles eyes followed the movement. His eyes noticeably dilated and cheeks tinged pink. The longer they stared at each other the more the air felt charged between them, as if waiting for something. It made the hairs on Jackson’s his arm stand up on end.

Abruptly Stiles moved to stand and his foot shot out to tangle in his legs, tripping him. He’d have fallen, would have hurt himself if Jackson hadn’t caught him, and the chains broke apart like wet paper with the strange and sudden burst of strength that gripped him just then. He thought Stiles would be afraid but whatever madness had possessed him seemed to be affecting him too. He just slid bonelessly into place, straddling Jacksons' lap and stared intently at him. He was hard, they both were, and yet… 

“This just got so much more complicated,” Stiles groaned when Jacksons' eyes glowed blue.

“Yeah,” He agreed, and kissed him. Strong, bruising kisses that quickly had them sloppily rocking together because it felt too good not to. Kissed until Stiles broke away panting to give these long, needy, open mouthed groans into his bare shoulder as Jackson writhed underneath his weight.

The cold, nameless something wasn’t slithering under his skin anymore. It was a living, breathing force. Powerful and demanding and now as much a part of him as anything else. Something warm and strong but still soft, like fur.

\-------------------------

52  
 **Warnings:** none  
 **Pairing:** Lydia/Jackson

Jackson's parents want to move out of Beacon Hills. More specifically, they want _him_ to move out of Beacon Hills.

"You've just had so much trouble this last year," his mom says anxiously, which is really code for "you've just been so much trouble", while his dad nods thoughtfully and doesn't say much of anything.

For a couple weeks, he even decides he _will_ move. He'll get a new start, pretend the entire shitty year just hadn't happened. He'll miss Lydia, of course, because he loves her, loves her so much that it hurts. But even when she's trying to hide it, he knows she wants more than he can give her. There's a hunger in her to be more than just the prettiest, most popular cheerleader.

She wants the world and he knows he'll never be able to give it to her. Might as well rip the band-aid off now.

Then he talks to Danny.

"Is this because of the werewolf thing? Because you might as well suck it up and join Scott's pack," Danny says. "What makes you so sure whatever's in London will be as nice as Scott?"

Jackson stares.

Danny sighs. "I know you don't like him, but he's not that bad. He's grown up a lot."

Jackson continues to stare.

"Besides, what about Lydia?"

"You know about werewolves?" Jackson hisses. He glances furtively at the bedroom door and gets up to close it. "How did you find out?" 

"Stiles and Scott talk about werewolf stuff all the time. How would I not know? Anyways, you don't have to leave, that's all I'm saying."

So he stays.

\--

Lydia turns out to know more about being a werewolf than he does. He ends up feeling stupid and jealous at how everyone else was told about werewolves before him, how all the losers got invitations while he practically had to beg.

"Shut up, Jackson. What do you expect when you're mean to them?" Lydia finally snaps when he complains to her about it one time too many, lying on his bed with his head in her lap. She pets his hair to take some of the sting out of her words. "It's fine. It happens. We don't have to be in Scott's pack anyways. You can be in my pack."

"Don't you mean you'll be in my pack?" Jackson teases. He rolls onto his stomach and buries his face in the folds of her skirt. "I thought you didn't want to be a werewolf."

"I asked Allison's dad. You don't have to be a werewolf to be in the pack. And sweetie, we both know who's the alpha here." She cups his face and pulls him up for a kiss. Her leg is silky-smooth under his fingertips as he pushes her skirt up around her waist.

He knows all the ways to make her breath catch and his name fall from her tongue. He teases her with his fingers on her clit and his mouth on her throat until she is slick with want. They fuck with their clothes still mostly on and after he spills inside her, he drops to his knees on the floor and licks the taste of himself back out of her as she moans encouragement.

He loves going down on her.

"Me, you, Allison, Danny," Lydia says afterwards, curled up against him. "That's four."

"Four what?" he asks drowsily.

"For our pack. Derek has four too. Hmm." Her fingernails tap against his chest. "We'll have to take Erica too."

\--

Eight weeks later, Jackson is second-in-command of the largest pack in Beacon Hills and Lydia wears a feral joy around herself that makes him think that maybe, when she eventually leaves to force the whole world to learn her name, she'll take him along too.

\-------------------------

53  
 **Warnings:**  
 **Pairing:** Stiles/Derek  
 **Notes:** If Derek had been too late to protect Stiles from Peter in 1.09.

He was too late. 

On Derek's end of the phone all he could hear were growls and Stiles' frantic, terrified whimpers. Then a scream.

Then nothing.

Derek slammed his way through the doors of the care centre until he got to Peter's wing and stopped dead. 

Blood.

Everywhere. 

He followed his senses, his fangs and nails emerging without even thinking about them.

The blood trail ended at a curtain that had a bloody hand print smeared down it. Two sets of feet could be seen under.

Derek remembered tearing the curtain down with a roar that made even his ears ring and then nothing.

***

Derek heard of Chinese Water Torture but he didn't think it was anything like this.

"Nah, this is Stilinski Tapping Torture," Stiles said and Derek's eyes popped open as he realized a few things all at once.

One, he'd been asleep.

Two, he didn't know how he got to... where was he?

"It's my house," Stiles supplied.

Three, Stiles could read his mind.

"You're talking out loud, dumbass," Stiles said, rolling his eyes.

"Four, I thought you were dead," Derek said, finally realizing he was, indeed, speaking aloud.

"Close," Stiles replied.

"I wasn't in time," Derek continued. 

"Close," Stiles repeated in a whisper.

"Peter?"

"You killed him."

"I'm the alpha now," Derek said dully.

"Seems like. Got those neat red eyes now. Kinda hot," Stiles said lightly.

For an newly appointed alpha werewolf Derek was really slow because he looked down at himself and was surprised to find he was in Stiles' bed. 

With Stiles. 

And neither of them were wearing shirts. Maybe less?

"You've already pointed out that at least no shirts I own fit you to your liking and I wasn't going to see if any of my pants fit you so you're still wearing those," Stiles said with a shrug.

Something caught Derek's eye with that movement and he shoved Stiles over so he could see his back.

"Hey hey!"

"Shut up, Stiles," Derek growled and, huh. Stiles did.

A small speck of blood. Stiles smelled freshly washed but he missed some.

"Peter..." Derek trailed off hoarsely, unable to make himself say the words.

"Yeah," Stiles replied glumly.

"I'm sorry I couldn't stop him," Derek reached out and put his hand on Stiles shoulder. Stiles pushed into the feeling eagerly.

"I don't feel right," Stiles complained. "I know how Scott was feeling when Peter was calling for him but now he's gone so I don't know--"

"Your alpha is gone. You're lucky you turned but until you have an alpha you'll feel like something's missing," Derek explained.

 

"So do it," Stiles said, turning to face Derek on the bed.

"What?"

"You're the alpha, right? Be my alpha. You have to be, since I don't know any others. I don't like this feeling."

Derek shook his head. "Stiles--"

Stiles cut him off by rolling on top of Derek suddenly and pinning him to the mattress. Derek could easily shove him off and force him back but Stiles was warm and smelled amazing to him.

"Please," Stiles breathed, worried eyes searching for something akin in Derek's.

Derek didn't trust his voice so he nodded and wrapped one hand around the back of Stiles' neck. As he pulled him down he caught a waft of Peter still on Stiles and he shifted instantly in response. He needed to cover Stiles in himself, make him his.

Derek didn't give Stiles any warning before his fangs sank into Stiles' neck but Stiles barely shuddered, just sighed and sank into Derek's embrace. 

Derek was running on instinct, and knew somehow that this was all it took but he kept his mouth on Stiles' neck longer than necessary. Even once his fangs receded he licked and sucked at the marks, until Stiles hissed.

Stiles shifted his hips, drawing attention elsewhere, where Stiles was hard against him. Derek spread his legs so Stiles could lay between them and let him rut against his own hard cock, trapped in his jeans. Derek merely wrapped his arms around Stiles' back and murmured in his ear until Stiles stiffened and slumped.

"If that didn't feel so damn right I'd be really embarrassed right now," Stiles slurred, face smushed into Derek's chest.

"I understand," Derek said simply, basking in Stiles' contentment and how he made his beta feel that way.

"Give me a minute and I'll take care of you, too," Stiles continued, cupping Derek through his jeans. "My alpha."

\-------------------------

54  
 **Warnings:** n/a  
 **Pairing:** Stiles/Derek  
 **Notes:** Pre-Canon AU/Future!Fic. No Hale fire, Hale-Stilinski families friendship, Claudia offered the bite when she falls ill.

 

Stiles spun his chair around when the window slid open. He restrained himself for five seconds before launching himself across his bedroom to octopus his way into Derek's arms. Derek caught him -- he always did -- and muffled Stiles' laugh with a kiss.

"Shh. Your dad's downstairs."

"Watching the game," Stiles said in-between kisses. "Couldn't tear him away if the house were collapsing around him."

Derek dumped Stiles onto the twin bed, shrugging out of his leather jacket. Stiles made grabby hands, but Derek wasn't in any hurry to comply. Stiles' complaints died on his lips when Derek continued to strip -- his shirt landed on Stiles' desk chair, his boots on top of Stiles' dirty clothes pile, and his jeans --

The black jeans didn't make it much past Derek's hips when Stiles plunged his hands into the back of the boxers, gripping Derek's ass and pulling him forward.

"I'm going to blow you until you see stars," Stiles said, squirming down on the bed. "Or you're going to fuck my mouth until I come into my pants. Or both. I vote both."

" _Stiles_ ," Derek groaned. "I should come home more often."

"You come home every weekend," Stiles said, pausing to lick the length of Derek's cock. "But when you come home with a freshly-minted Master's degree --"

Stiles swallowed him down slowly, going deeper every time. He paused long enough to adjust himself in his jeans and took Derek in until his nose was pressed against his groin. Derek's arms trembled on either side of Stiles' head, keeping himself still until Stiles gave him the go-ahead.

Stiles tugged Derek's belt loops and met his eyes, savouring the fully-aroused flush on Derek's face and the dazed look in his eyes. Derek pulled out slowly, hesitantly, before thrusting in. Stiles closed his eyes, letting himself get lost in the feeling of Derek's cock on his tongue, splitting his mouth open. Derek's salty-musky taste, his weight, his warmth. Stiles could drown in all that and he would die happy.

He wasn't getting any friction on his cock, and it was suffocating in his too-tight jeans. It shouldn't turn him on this much, to be used like this, but it did, because it was _Derek_. It was Derek's little, bitten-off moans, trying to keep quiet even though Stiles' dad wouldn't hear them, that got him so hot he thought he'd explode.

Derek made a soft noise of warning. Stiles sucked harder and gripped Derek's ass to hold him deep when he came, swallowing every drop.

Stiles might've spilled some, but he couldn't remember. When Derek pulled out of Stiles' mouth and reached back to stroke his cock through his jeans, Stiles sort of whited-out for a while. 

Derek stretched out alongside him, lazily licking the come Stiles hadn't caught and simultaneously giving him beard-burn while scent-marking him. Stiles bared his throat, because he'd _missed_ this.

"One more summer," Stiles murmured happily.

Derek made a grumble of agreement.

Waiting three months before they moved in together -- Derek to do his PhD in mechanical engineering, Stiles to start his undergrad in criminal justice at Berkeley -- that was cruel and unusual punishment when neither of them had done anything wrong, but, _gah_. They'd promised their parents they'd wait until then before making their mating official, and Stiles was so regretting that now.

"I know," Derek said, kissing Stiles' neck and probably smelling Stiles' feelings vomiting all over the room. "Peter said if I helped him out at the shop and took over when he's in New York in June, we could use his loft --"

Derek trailed off, turning his head and tilting it while he listened. He made a small, tiny squawking sound before scrambling to cover them both up with the blanket. Recognizing all the signs of _fuck, we're busted, there's no getting out of this_ , Stiles tried to help.

They ended up as a tangled mess on the floor.

There was a warning knock on the door before it opened.

"Oh, Derek," Claudia said, her eyes gleaming gold at seeing her packmate, "Welcome back. You'll be staying for dinner, won't you?"

"Yes'm," Derek said.

Stiles banged his head on the floor.

"And you'll call your mother? She thought you'd be home by now."

"Yes'm," Derek said, hiding his face in Stiles' neck.

Stiles waved a hand at his mom to _go away_. " _Privacy_ , mom. It's still a thing."

Claudia laughed and shut the door behind her.

\-------------------------

55  
 **Warnings:** trading sex  
 **Pairing:** Derek/Stiles  
 **Notes:** Set in a 1x04 (Magic Bullet) where Stiles did not immediately find out that Scott was a werewolf.

“Shit, okay, okay. Okay, you’ve been shot, you smell like death, we need to call the cops!”

“No cops,” rasped _Derek Hale_ ; Stiles wasn't sure why he recognized Derek right away, but there had always been something memorable about the Hales. “Do you know Scott McCall?”

Did Stiles know Scott? Yes. Was he going to murder Scott for getting involved in something probably illegal? Also yes.

“What do you want with Scott? He works with dogs, not people.” Stiles’ fingers hovered over his father’s number. “Oh my God, are you his drug dealer? Did you supply his juice?” It made a scary amount of sense if you ignored that Scott lacked the street smarts to buy weed without their parents finding out, much less steroids. Stiles knew from experience.

“Not a drug dealer. Find Scott. Need his help.”

Derek’s eyes flashed blue. That was how a Hale ended up bundled in Stiles’ car while Stiles worked through the fact that his best friend was a werewolf.

The rest of Stiles’ week wasn’t better, even though they’d managed to save Derek at the last minute. He spent the next few days warring between sulking that Scott hadn’t told him out of some misguided attempt to protect him and indulging his – some would say psychotic – need to know everything about new situations. On Thursday, Stiles gave up on the internet and decided to go to the source. 

The source sucked. Between Scott informing him that Derek was shady as fuck and the body in the woods being identified as Derek’s sister, Stiles was starting to think the guy _might_ be untrustworthy. Still, he could suck it up and play nice with someone he distrusted. For Scott.

Stiles found Derek in his ruined home doing shirtless pushups. Yes, that certainly helped.

“Hi, Derek,” he said, pretending they were friends. Saving a guy’s life probably entitled you to that, though from the way Derek was glaring at him he didn’t agree. “Look, I think this is all going to go better if you start sharing information instead of growling at Scott and being mysterious. I’ve known him since preschool, and let me tell you, the boy has a problem with male authority.”

“You’re human,” Derek said. “You’re not involved. You don’t need to know.”

“Like hell! Did you miss the part where I’ve known Scott since pre-school? What he needs to know, I need to know, and we need to know everything.”

Derek stood in one smooth motion and stalked forward into Stiles’ personal space. Stiles froze when he remembered he was in the room with a dangerous, supernatural predator who would sooner eat him than look at him. “You don’t. Why would I trust you? Or tell you anything?”

Stiles’ brain stalled on reasons. He stared at Derek’s face with his mouth hanging open, feeling trapped by Derek’s stare. Derek was staying an inch from Stiles’ chest, so close that when Derek exhaled, Stiles could feel it on his cheeks.

“I could,” Stiles hedged, “do something. Anything you wanted.”

Derek’s scowl changed slowly, from a serious frown to a sneer that was more canine aggression than amusement. “Anything.”

It was just to get information for Scott; Stiles could do anything for that. “Whatever you want.”

Derek shrugged and unzipped his jeans and pushed his underwear quickly aside, revealing that his cock was already half-hard. Stiles froze up again, until Derek pushed both his shoulders down. His knees buckled and he hit the floor solidly enough to send up a cloud of dust.

“Here.” Derek put his hands on both sides of Stiles’ head and used his thumbs to spread his lips wide. “Watch your teeth.”

Stiles didn’t need his guidance to put his mouth around Derek’s cock, but he was thankful for the hands when Derek started to fuck his mouth. He struggled not to gag as Derek began to speak:

“There are three types of werewolf: Alpha, Beta, and Omega…”

\-------------------------

56  
 **Warnings:** Voyeurism  
 **Pairing:** Scott/Lydia, voyeur Stiles  
 **Notes:** From “Lunatic” S1E08. What if Stiles saw Lydia and Scott make out? What if they did more than make out?

Stiles ducked out of the locker room, slightly frantic. Scott could be anywhere. As soon as he'd asked Scott to find out if Lydia was sexually attracted to him, he knew it was a terrible idea. It was temporary insanity. That was the only explanation. 

There was no way Lydia was attracted to him. She was into coiffed, bulked-up dudes like Jackson. Stiles just let his denial get the better of him. Scott was testy because of the full moon. Lydia had a short fuse when someone was trying her patience. The whole thing was a recipe for disaster. 

When he turned the corner, he saw Lydia's BFF of the week walking away from Lydia's locker. Lydia had to be close. He heard voices coming from Mr. Westover's room, one of them definitely Lydia's, so he peered into the window. What Stiles saw stopped him dead in his tracks.

His immediate reaction was to bust into the classroom, pull Scott off Lydia, and punch his fucking lights out. His best friend. His fucking best friend was making out with the potential love of Stiles' life. Stiles could feel adrenaline-fueled rage course through him.

But what could he do? Scott was a werewolf. And Lydia, well, Lydia was pushing Scott onto Mr. Westover's desk and climbing onto his lap.

Stiles couldn't look away.

Rationally, he wanted Scott to stop her. Or Lydia to stop Scott. He really, really did. But Lydia was pulling off her sweater and reaching under her skirt to peel off her tights. He could see the creamy skin of her thighs, and his dick was very interested in the proceedings.

When she straddled Scott's lap, Stiles got a glimpse of red panties. It was enough to table his anger for the time being. He was never going to make it with Lydia. This was as close as he was going to get. So he lived vicariously as he watched Scott’s hands, combing through her hair, gripping her ass, and pulling her forward.

She extricated herself from his grip suddenly and climbed off the desk. Stiles turned away from the door and pressed against the wall, but he didn’t hear her coming toward it. When he looked back into the room, she was tossing the red panties onto an empty desk. Stiles pressed the heel of his palm against his cock and bit back a groan. 

“Well, take it out, Scott.” Lydia said sharply. “This has to be quick.”

Stiles had seen Scott's dick before, but not since the bite. He had read things on the internet about werewolf cocks, but it didn't look any different. As Scott gave his cock a few strokes, Stiles gaped at how, well, arousing it was. His dick didn't deflate. In fact, it did the opposite, which helped considerably with his bisexual theory.

Lydia procured a condom from somewhere and rolled it down Scott’s dick. Then she climbed back on the desk and sank down on it just like that. Still in her skirt, Stiles couldn’t see everything, but he saw enough. 

Lydia circled her hips, grinding down and then lifting herself back up, riding Scott like he was just a toy for her pleasure. Scott's hands were at her waist. When Lydia let out a moan, his claws popped out. Stiles considered stopping them, but from his angle, he could see Lydia’s tits bouncing up and down, and nothing else seemed _that_ important.

If Stiles saw teeth, he’d intervene. Definitely. Maybe. If Lydia noticed. But nothing short of Scott trying to tear out Lydia’s throat was going to make Stiles stop watching right then. 

When Lydia reached her hand down under her skirt, Stiles just about lost it right there in his pants. She was rubbing her clit, and even though he couldn’t really see, it was _still_ the hottest thing he had ever seen.

Stiles was aching for relief, but he didn’t want to whip it out in the hallway. Plus, as soon as Scott got his rocks off, he would totally sniff Stiles out. When Lydia started gasping, Stiles couldn’t handle it. He darted down the hallway and ducked into the first classroom he could find. Leaning against the door, he took out his dick.

With the image of Lydia and Scott in his mind, in three strokes Stiles was spilling into his hand. 

He took a few deep breaths, trying to recover before he went to confront Scott.

\-------------------------

57  
 **Warnings:none**  
 **Pairing: Stiles/Derek**  
 **Notes:**  
"I can't believe you flirted with her," Stiles said, still a little breathless after leaving the police station.

"What the hell did you think I was planning on doing?" Derek sounded exasperated as he got back into Stiles' Jeep. "You didn't think I was actually going to hurt her, did you?"

"No, but I didn't think you were gonna... charm her. With your stubble and your... smiling."

"'Give me a sample,'" Derek snorted.

"It was a legitimate request at the time!" 

"Just take us back to the train station," he said, gesturing at Isaac, still curled in the backseat.

"Fine," Stiles grumbled. "Just go on and seduce everyone else in your way, that seemed to work pretty well."

\-----

Isaac disappeared into the large space once they got inside, and Derek turned to look at Stiles.

"Is there anything else?"

"I still can't believe you just..." Stiles flailed demonstratively.

"Why are you so fixated on this?"

"It's not fair! You're all supernaturally strong and look like a model, the only thing you had that put you in the category of mere mortals was your terrible personality. And now apparently you can fake that!"

"Are you going into shock? Is that what's happening? Because you're sounding kind of nuts."

"Whatever. I'm going home. I'm going to pretend I never saw you smile like that." Stiles pointed at him threateningly. "I don't want to see it again, are we clear?"

Derek stared at him helplessly. "I have no idea what's happening right now."

"Good!" Stiles yelled as he stormed out.

_

"Derek!" Stiles yelled as he stormed back in. "I told you not to do that again!"

"What's wrong?"

"You smiled again. When you were picking up Erica from school. Who, by the way, you apparently turned into a werewolf. Did you seduce her too?"

"I... maybe?"

"Of course you did, asshole. You need to put that away! You're a danger to all the womenfolk of Beacon Hills. And a good portion of the men, too."

"I haven't seduced any men."

"Oh, really?" Stiles looked at him as if he was an idiot. "And what do you think was happening in my room, 'Miguel'?"

"That was you, not me!"

"Whatever. With great power comes great responsibility, so be a little more fucking responsible."

"Right, how dare I be nice to people or smile at them like a normal human being."

"You're not being nice or smiling, you're - you're playing them. If I thought any of it was actually about you being happy or wanting to get with someone, that would be different."

"How do you know? Maybe I wanted to talk to that lady cop."

Stiles gave him an assessing look. "Did you?"

"Not the point. Actually, I have no idea what the point of any of this is."

"It's that -" Stiles' face flamed. "Whatever, nothing, I'm leaving."

"Wait," Derek said, grabbing him by the arm. "Are you jealous?"

"What? No! Why would I be... I mean, I'm not even sure I'm gay-"

Derek dropped his arm like it was burning him. "I mean, uh, jealous of my ability to seduce people or whatever. I didn't mean, um."

"Oh." It was silent for a minute. "Well, this is awkward."

____

Stiles made an incoherent noise as he felt Derek push inside him - the sensation not new, exactly (he was an enterprising guy, not much that he could accomplish solo was entirely foreign to him), but different, better, than anything he'd experienced before.

"Oh god, Stiles, I can't - you're - oh my god," Derek gasped into his neck.

Stiles pushed his fingers harder into the skin of Derek's back, sure he was leaving nail marks. He didn't care, it was too much, he needed to do something, push back, push as he arched into Derek's thrusts.

He came and he saw stars.

When Derek had pulled back out, thrown away the condom and rested his sweaty head on Stiles's chest, looking more innocent than Stiles had ever seen him before, he decided it was time to face the music,

“Okay, you succeeded. What do you want from me?”

“What?” Derek asked, rasing his head to look at Stiles. His lips were still red, his cheeks rosy.

“The whole seduction thing. What was it for?”

Derek pulled back a little. “I… just like you.”

“Oh. Um. Really?”

“Yeah,” Derek said. And he smiled, and Stiles had to admit it didn’t look anything like the smiles he’d seen before.

\-------------------------

58  
 **Warnings:** d/s (bordering on abuse?), rough sex; underage.  
 **Pairing:** Derek/Isaac  
 **Notes:** When Derek threw that glass at Isaac, the boy didn't run. Instead, he switched into submissive mode, convincing Derek to let him stay. (Or "Isaac is Derek's obedient little fucktoy" AU.)

 

It started with the glass and Isaac clinging to this mess of a life that was not worth fighting for. But he did, and he was so good at it that Derek couldn't throw him out that night. Or the next. Or any other night. Whenever he tried, Isaac would sink down on his knees, proving his obedience and loyalty in the most persuasive way possible. 

“It's like paying rent,” he once said, wiping Derek's cum off his chin with the back of his hand. “Actually, now that I think about it, I'm good enough so that _you_ should start to pay _me_.”

It was just a silly joke, but the smugness on Isaac's face stirred a sudden anger in Derek, fierce, beyond his control. He backhanded him hard, receiving a wide-eyed stare that transformed into a mischievous grin the next moment. That night, Isaac turned into a mess of sweaty curls and obscene cussing under Derek's thrusts. 

The occasional blow jobs turned into not-so-occasional fucking, anywhere, everywhere, rougher and less controlled every time. Whenever Derek needed to blow off steam, Isaac was right there, taking it all without complaint.

It was bizarre, alarming, and yet neither of them could help it. Not even Cora threatening to move out made Derek stop. When she left, he was almost relieved; at least she wouldn't have to witness her brother's downfall anymore.

Sometimes, Derek wished he could chase Isaac away just as easily. No matter what he did, the boy always returned home, lashes fluttering and cheeks burning, but with his head up high. This tiny spark of pride, hidden underneath the submission that his father's hands had beaten into him for years, was what Derek loved and dreaded the most. It was only a matter of time until Isaac would either fight back or break completely.

Derek hushed his guilty conscience with the thought that the boy was well capable of walking away if he so chose, although he knew it wasn't true. He wouldn't go anywhere unless he was pushed there hard.

Today, 'there' was flush against the wall. Today, Isaac smelled of Allison, so thoroughly that there was no doubt how her scent had clung to his skin. The mere thought got Derek raging with an unknown jealousy, strong and pure.

“Derek, please, it mean nothing. The nogitsune—”

Derek hit him in the face hard enough to whip his head to the side, but Isaac just bit his lip, didn't make a sound.

“You belong to me.”

“I didn't mean to upset you,” Isaac said calmly. “I'm sorry.”

“You should be.” Derek hurled him to the floor, unable to bite back a growl when the boy propped himself on all fours, ass up in the air and forehead down on the ground. Like the obedient puppy he loved to be, and that had hooked Derek from the start.

He made short work of Isaac's jeans and boxers, and almost shorter work of spitting on him and pushing a finger inside, evoking a sharp hiss through gritted teeth.

“How about some lube?”

“Maybe later.”

Saliva worked well enough for two digits, but the third was a challenge. However, it seemed Isaac didn't mind the lesson much; he pushed back eagerly, uttering broken moans, although it must hurt.

“You want this so badly, don't you?”

Isaac managed only a long-drawn whimper.

“Tell me.”

“I want you inside me. Please, Derek, I need you to . . .”

“Fuck you?”

“Claim me.”

Derek tilted his head to the side, frowning. “You know what? I don't think so.” When he withdrew his fingers, Isaac made such a desperate sound that his heart clenched.

“Please, I'll do anything, just please. Don't—please!”

“I'll tell you what,” Derek said slowly, nudging Isaac to turn around and face him. “You'll get yourself off for me. Any way I want you to. You'll keep going until I say it's enough. No matter how many times you've come. No matter how long it takes. And maybe I'll fuck you later, when you're so wasted that you can't even take it anymore.”

Isaac looked up at him with quivering lips. “But you'll . . . I can stay, right?”

“Probably.”

A flash of amber lit Isaac's eyes. “What's first?”

\-------------------------

59  
 **Warnings:**  
 **Pairing:** Jennifer/Kali  
 **Notes:** Lunar Ellipse divergent: Aiden and Lydia ran away when Jennifer crashed through Derek's skylight, thus Jennifer fights Kali alone.

"I-I should have..." the words died in Kali's throat, they weren't true anyways. 

Jennifer hesitated, the jagged glass shards shimmering in the air as the wind quiets, "Should have what?" 

Kali shook her head swallowing deeply, the pain of the realization much worse than Julia's new power tossing her around like a rag doll. 

"No," Jennifer said angrily, glass clattering to the floor as she stalked closer, "you don't get to close me out, not now, I'm not her any more." 

"Jul-" Kali began. 

" _Jennifer_ " she hissed, and the space between them kept disintegrating. 

Kali's gaze dipped down along her clenched jaw line, "I should have just killed Deucalion." 

Jennifer's deep growl startled her into jerking her wet eyes up, "Do you have _any_ idea how long I've waited for that?" 

Jennifer's hands pulled Kali's hair harshly, and her lips devoured hers. Kali was gentle in return, rubbing her back and keeping her teeth dulled like she used to when they first began to kiss. Jennifer didn't care for that though, not with everything that had happened, not with how close to death Kali had just been. She pushed the taller woman up against the wall and nipped at her throat until Kali's claws pricked through her clothes. 

"So demanding," Kali said lowly, squeezing her flesh tighter and letting her nails scratch. 

"Mhmm, you love it," Jennifer answered, rocking her hips forward, and settling on Kali's thigh.

"I do," Kali said, drawing Jennifer's lips up to hers to swallow any response. 

Jennifer's hand forced itself into Kali's tight pants instead, the button popping off and rolling across the floor. She ignored it, pushing into the kiss deeper and clutching her silk covered vulva. Jennifer grinned against her lips- even after all these years of being a wolf, Kali still wore the classiest undergarments. 

Kali's hands moved at a slower rate, she always had been the more patient of the two, and her warm palms pressed against her waist, holding her closer, tighter. She let her nails scrape over her spine as she dragged her hands up, and Jennifer shivered in her arms, tapping her clit rapidly with one finger as retaliation. Kali let out a breathless moan/laugh hybrid, and went for Jennifer's pants, already smelling her wetness. Jennifer quickly thrust three of her fingers into Kali deeply while rubbing her clit with her thumb, knowing once Kali's hands were on her she wouldn't have the focus. The mixture of the feedback arousal loop and knowing that Jennifer still remembered after all this time, that she still did it exactly the same pushed Kali over the edge rapidly. 

Kali stroked Jennifer through her own aftershocks, her brain coming back online as Jennifer's scent thickened in the air. 

"You've been such a naughty girl Jennifer," Kali began, slipping her free hand into her blouse. 

"And you know it too," Kali added, tweaking a nipple harshly, "the people I don't mind, but another werewolf? You know that even before, I would have vetoed him. Is that why you picked him?" 

Jennifer didn't answer, slumping forward a bit as Kali's hand moved faster against her pussy, the warm friction taking her breath away. 

"Why _him_ Jen?" Kali pressed, her hand moving up to squeeze the back of her neck. 

Jennifer flushed even deeper, "...he had claws." 

"Oh," Kali remarked, jealousy deflating and a smile stretching across her lips, "well don't think I'm not going to still paddle you at home. I'll get you all nice and soaked over the edge of the couch, I'll lick you until you can't open your legs any wider, until your pussy's pressing out to kiss my lips, until you're shaking with it and then-"

A small mewl escaped from Jennifer, and Kali's words cut off, kissing her lightly. Her mouth moved down to her shoulder, teeth closed over right where his mark had been, and Jennifer wasn't surprised the woman found it even healed over. Her human teeth sunk into her, marking her once again, and Jennifer came with a moan, collapsing forward.

"Shhh," Kali murmured, holding her up, "we're going to be just fine." 

"I've missed you," she answered into her neck. 

Kali held her tighter, "Me too, let's go home."

\-------------------------

60  
 **Warnings:** Underage (since everyone is canon age)  
 **Pairing:** Scott/Derek/Stiles  
 **Notes:** This assumes a few things. One, that Jennifer was not the Darach and didn’t seduce Derek and use him for sex. Two, that he managed to heal without her help while the boys were at the hotel. Three, that Stiles has been “consoling” Scott after his break up with Allison and that they are together...and by “console,” I mean with his dick. XD And four, that both Scott and Stiles have been pining after Derek, and vice versa. This takes place after Motel California.

~*~*~*~*~

The slide of the closing door made Derek look up from the table in front of him. Turning around, he was very surprised to see Stiles and Scott standing in his doorway, both with stunned expressions on their faces. For a moment, they all just stared at each other. 

Stiles was the first to move, stepping slowly across the room until he stood in front of Derek. His mouth worked a couple of times, drawing Derek’s attention to how chapped and bitten they were. He followed the movement when Stiles’ tongue darted out to lick at them, then gave himself a mental shake. Stiles was with Scott. There was no room for him there.

“You’re alive.” Stiles’ voice was low and hesitant, as though he couldn’t believe it. “You didn’t -- You’re alive.” 

Next thing Derek knows, he has an armful of Stiles and eager lips nudging at his own. For a split second, he allows himself to indulge in the feeling, returning Stiles’ kiss with vigor. Then he realized what he was doing and pushed Stiles away. 

“Don’t,” he said harshly. “Don’t do that. You and Scott --”

“Have been trying to find a way to tell you that we want you,” Scott’s voice interrupted from right in his ear. “I’m actually glad he did that.”

Derek blinked at both of them, confused and incredulous. What the hell was going on? 

“What --” he tried to ask but didn’t get much farther before Scott had caught his lips in a searing kiss, licking across the seam of his lips and demanding entrance. His head spun a bit with everything that was happening. How had he missed this? 

Pushing Scott back a bit, he stared at him, confused. “You hate me, Scott. What’s really going on?”

“Well,” Scott said, grinning sheepishly. “Hate’s kind of a...strong word.”

“Pigtail pulling,” Stiles interjected, leaning in and mouthing at the hinge of Derek’s jaw. Derek hadn’t even noticed him moving close again. “He’s been pigtail pulling.” Stiles cupped Derek’s jaw and turned him to face him. “Please tell us you’re willing. It doesn’t have to mean --”

Derek didn’t let him get any further, reaching for first one and then the other and drawing them in for a deep, hard kiss in answer. After that, it was a flurry of clothes, questing lips, and fumbling hands as they stumbled to Derek’s bed. 

They finally settled with Stiles against the headboard, Derek between his splayed legs with Stiles’ erection nudging the top of his ass. Scott kneeled above them between Derek’s thighs, licking his lips and watching both of them hungrily with shining eyes, a hit of fang poking over his bottom lip. 

Derek’s dick twitched at the loss of control; and he dropped his own fangs, letting his eyes flash briefly. Behind him, Stiles moaned and jerked his hips, humping up against Derek’s back. Stiles mouthed at the back of Derek’s neck, scraping his teeth along the nape.

Derek growled and jerked his head forward, moving it so that it rested on Stiles’ shoulder, baring his neck. Above him Scott drew in a harsh breath through his nose and darted forward, lightly resting his fangs on the offered skin. Derek closed his eyes and arched his back, bumping their cocks together.

Behind him, Stiles panted in his ear and let his hands wander, drifting up and down Derek’s chest and stopping to pinch and pull at sensitive nipples as Scott lowered himself down to grind into Derek’s lap. Slowly, they built a rhythm between them, Derek straining up against Scott and then rubbing back against Stiles. 

Hands roamed as they rutted against each other, and kisses were shared indiscriminately. Derek found that he liked to watch them kiss. Scott devoured Stiles’ mouth, licking into it and scraping his lower lip with his fangs, leaving them pink and puffy and perfect for Derek to swoop in and ruin more. 

A warm wetness on his back signalled Stiles’ orgasm, as did the way he wailed and arched against him. Scott swallowed that wail, kissing Stiles deeply before pulling back and digging human teeth into Stiles’ shoulder. Derek drove his hips harder and planted his hand on the small of Scott’s back, encouraging him on faster and harder. 

Stiles whispered filth at them, kissing and caressing as they chased their orgasms, finally reaching a peak and tumbling over with fang-bared growls and shining eyes

\-------------------------

61  
 **Warnings: spanking, role-playing, face-fucking, fingering**  
 **Pairing: Sterek**

"What are you doing here," Hale scowls. "This is private property." 

"Well, actually," Stiles says. "It's public property. And as a taxpayer--" 

"Can I help you with something?"

"It's Potter. I'm his Biology teacher. If he doesn't pass, you have to bench him."

"So pass him." 

"You know I can't do that." 

"What can I do," he asks, looking up finally. 

"My office. 6:30." 

Hale meets his gaze. "Okay."   
\-------------

Coach Derek Hale is beautiful, but he's even more beautiful bent over Stiles' desk with his jeans down around his ankles. 

"Fuck, oh fuck," Stiles says, "Now open your legs a little wider."

He can't; his jeans are keeping them together, but he tries anyway, and says, "Yes sir."

He looks so pitiful, face flushed, dick hard, and ashamed. "Please, Mr. Stilinski. Please, may I have another?" 

Stiles pulls his hand back hard, and slaps it onto the flushed curve of Hale's ass cheek. He winces, but grinds his hips forward, so Stiles does it again, and again, and again, until he's left panting, and Hale's ass is left with imprints of his hand. "What do you want now, Coach?" Stiles ask him. 

"Your fingers," he pants, "fuck me with your fingers." He presses back against Stiles while he's saying it, which is a bit much probably, but Stiles doesn't mind that Hale's laying it on thick. He shoves his fingers in Hale's mouth. 

"Get them wet for me." Hale sucks. 

Stiles doesn't leave it at that, dips his saliva-covered fingers in some lotion before he circles the tips of them up and down Hale's crack, and shoves a finger straight into his ass. Hale hisses, but takes it like a champ. 

"More," he says. 

Stiles withdraws completely. "I'm sorry, what was that?" 

"More, please, sir," Hale says. 

Stiles presses back in with two fingers, but he's not fucking around. He crooks them and flicks his wrist around until Hale is moaning and rubbing against the desk as Stiles' fingers jam into him. "Do you want to come?" 

"Yes, yes, YESS, sir," Hale whines. 

Stiles curves his free hand around Hale's hip and digs in hard enough to leave bruises. "Then touch yourself, you fucking criminal," he says, not stopping, only pumping his fingers faster. 

Coach Hale comes with a grunt and little fanfare. He's pulling up his jeans and righting his polo when Stiles stops him with a hand on his shoulder. "I'm not finished with you yet." 

"I took my punishment."

"It wasn't your punishment, it was Potter's, and he's been an awful this year. On your knees." 

Hale looks like he's about to bolt for the door, but he doesn't. "Yes, sir," he says, and does it.

Stiles gets a hand around his face and presses on the hinge of his jaw. "Open." That's all it takes. Seconds later, Stiles his shoving his dick into Hale's mouth. "Yes, yes," he mumbles, as he does it, fucking Hale's throat with little to no abandoned. It's hot and slick and tight and Hale's eyes are watering so beautifully, all Stiles can do is pump his hips and pull Hale's hair, use his other hand to keep Hale's mouth open. 

"You're good," he gasps, "so good. Look at you taking it. You're taking it so good. I wish you could see yourself. You'd put yourself on first line. First line of dick sucking. Yes, yes---." It doesn't take long. Stiles shoves his dick into Hale's face, and Hale pulls him forward with a hand on his ass, opens his throat while Stiles fucks it. He comes down Hale's throat in no time. 

"Jesus," Derek says, using the desk to pull himself up. "You're not getting another blowjob until we're in the bedroom. I'm too old for this shit." 

"It was good, though, wasn't it?" Stiles hums kisses into the corners of Derek's mouth. "Potter really is about to flunk, though."

"Yeah, I know." Derek finds Stiles' belt hanging off the side of the desk and hands it to him. "I doubt we'll make state without him."

"Sorry, babe," Stiles says, as he threads his belt through his khakis. "At least the girls are going to state."

"Yeah, about that," Derek says, "I'm fucking you over Coach McCall's desk next time." 

"Alright? You wanna go out for dinner? I'm up for anything but Italian."

"Chinese?" 

"Sure. Meet you at home in 20? You can drive." 

Derek pecks Stiles' cheek before he leaves. "Love you." 

Stiles smirks back at him. "I know."

\-------------------------

62  
 **Warnings:** underage  
 **Pairing:** Allison/Derek (background Allison/Scott)  
 **Notes:** Missing scenes from S1, episodes 1-3

 

The first time they fuck is the night of the party.

Allison gets a glimpse of him when she walks in with Scott, all dark hair and leather, illuminated by crackling flames in the fire pit. He's gone before she can ask about him, so she reaches for Scott's hand and tries to convince herself the heat on her cheeks is because of her date and not a mysterious stranger.

Beacon Hills is a fresh start, somewhere she can forget the past and tamp down the fire burning in her blood. Scott is nothing like her ex-boyfriend; he's shy, sweet. A boy Allison's parents would approve of.

She wraps her arms around Scott's neck as they dance. A thrill runs up her spine when his hands tighten around her waist, fingers digging almost painfully into her side. 

Allison wonders if Scott is as innocent as she once thought, but then he's gone without any explanation.

When she turns around, _he_ is there, telling her he's a friend of Scott's.

"My name's Derek." His smile is edged with danger. A wave of heat washes over her when he says, "It looks like you could use a ride."

Allison follows him without a second thought.

+++

She's already trembling when he pulls her jeans down and buries his face between her thighs.

"Let go, Allison," he says, licking her through wet satin and breathing her in. "I'm just getting started."

He snakes a finger under the elastic of her panties, strokes and teases her until she's crying out for more.

+++ 

Scott looks so earnest when he asks for another chance. Her father is waiting to take her home so Allison relents, then says she has to go.

A twinge of guilt prickles at the back of her mind when she sees Scott's warm smile.

She can't stop thinking about Derek.

+++

Her jacket mysteriously appears and she wonders how it got there, if Derek brought it to her.

When Scott asks where she got it, a lie about Lydia putting it in her locker falls easily from her tongue. She doesn't like Scott's accusatory questions and when he says Derek's not a friend, Allison walks away.

After class, she sees Derek lurking by the athletic fields and catches his eye. 

He fucks her under the bleachers, her mini-dress pushed up around her waist, while the lacrosse team practices for the big game.

Derek leaves without a word. Come drips down Allison's thighs as she yanks her tights up from around her knees. She straightens her dress, then goes to meet her father in front of the school.

+++

Derek's car is parked one block over when Scott drops her off after their bowling date. Scott kisses her, nice and soft, then Allison runs upstairs and sneaks out her bedroom window.

When they stop at a red light, Derek leans over and forces his tongue into her mouth, kissing her breathless until all she can taste is him. He pulls away when the light changes and continues driving as if nothing happened at all.

Allison's heartbeat thunders in her chest. Being kissed by Derek Hale is _nothing_ like kissing Scott.

"What happened to your window?" Allison asks, toeing a piece of glass on the floor mat.

"I ran into an old acquaintance at the gas station," Derek answers. "It didn't go well."

He looks at her from the corner of his eye and slides his hand between her legs.

+++

Allison's bare breasts are bathed in moonlight as her sweat-slick back slides against the hood of the Camaro. Her legs are slung over Derek's shoulders as he eats her out and two fingers slipping into her wet cunt is all it takes to bring her to orgasm. Her thighs clench around him, sticking to the leather of his jacket, as she cries out into the night.

Her body is still shaking when he flips her over, hands scrabbling for purchase when he thrusts inside her. He doesn't bother trying to get her off again, just grabs her hips and drags her back onto his cock, using her body to find his release.

Derek comes with a growl, then pulls out and zips himself up. The headlights provide enough light for Allison to find her clothes and she dresses quickly while he watches her from the driver's seat.

+++ 

They don't talk during the ride back to town, not until she gets out of his car.

"Allison," Derek calls out through his window. "Tell your father it's his move."

\-------------------------

63  
 **Warnings:** Uncle/Nephew Incest, Voyeurism, Outdoor Sex, Shifted Sex, Dubious Consent  
 **Pairing:** Scott McCall/Jackson Whittemore, Derek Hale/Peter Hale  
 **Notes:** AU where Jackson never went to London, and Derek, Peter, and Scott have been giving him lessons in How To Werewolf.

“Bad pup. Get off.” Peter reached over his shoulder and flicked Jackson’s nose, making him sneeze and roll away. Peter stood and dusted leaves off his shirt, frowning when Derek snickered. 

“Scott, go play with Jackson,” Derek said. Scott shifted and pounced onto the other teen, the two of them rolling in the dirt and snarling at each other. Peter sidled over to where Derek stood by the pizzas Stiles had dropped off, picking the fallen bits of sausage from the bottom of the box. They idly watched the two teens wrestle, and Peter was the first one to notice when the wrestling turned into writhing. He glanced at Derek and then took a few steps to place himself behind his nephew, pressing up against his back. Derek went still.

“Do you remember when we were like that?” he whispered, nodding to Jackson and Scott. Derek looked over to see them tearing at each other’s clothes and biting at shoulders. Peter wrapped his arms around Derek’s waist and cupped his hands over his crotch, slowly massaging. “We’d come home with leaves in our hair and dirt under our nails from the forest floor. You were always too eager to let me get us anywhere more comfortable.” Derek was plumping up beneath Peter’s hands, and he gave a squeeze. 

“Like you cared,” Derek shot back. “You were just as eager as I was to get naked.” 

“But I didn’t literally rip your clothes off, most of the time. I liked that shirt you ruined, it was a gift,” Peter pouted. “Though I don’t remember if it was from Laura or your mother.”

“Both. They got you a pack of identical shirts in different colors. The blue wasn’t your favorite, and you looked better in the green anyway.” Peter hummed and opened Derek’s pants, slipping a hand inside to wrap around his cock, both of them watching as Scott shoved Jackson down into the dirt and rutted against him. 

“Do you still think I look good in green?” Peter asked, kissing Derek’s neck as he stroked him. 

“Of course I do,” Derek grunted, rolling his hips back against Peter’s erection. “In your own words, it complements your skin tone. But red does bring out your eyes.”

“So you _do_ pay attention.” Peter pushed Derek’s jeans down his thighs and fondled his balls, open to the air. Derek turned his head and caught Peter’s mouth in a heated, bruising kiss. Peter was panting when he finally pulled away. 

“Tell me, dear nephew,” he said. “Which one do you think will be more embarrassed?”

“About what?” 

Peter chuckled. 

“That is the question isn’t it. How about having sex with an audience. Or that they’ll have to ride home naked. Or that they even had sex with each other in the first place?” 

Derek was silent for a moment while Peter nibbled on his neck. 

“Scott will be more embarrassed about being naked; Jackson will be more embarrassed about having sex with Scott at all. Jackson, probably,” Derek answered. Peter sucked a mark onto his neck and watched it fade. 

“I agree. Plus he’ll be upset about the dirt and leaves.” 

Derek didn’t reply as Peter sped up his hand, bringing Derek off at the same time Scott howled his completion. Peter caught Derek’s come in his hand, waited until he was done, and then brought his hand to his mouth to clean it off, his eyes glowing blue when Derek looked back at him and pecked his cheek. 

“I’ll finish you off when we get home,” he promised, tucking himself back into his jeans. 

“I’ll hold you to that,” Peter said, smiling. Scott rolled off of Jackson, both of them shifting back as they tried to catch their breath, covered in each other’s come. 

“Having fun?” Peter called to them. They jumped and Scott pushed himself up off the ground. Jackson sat up and looked down at himself, then glared at them. 

“We never speak of this,” he growled. Peter laughed. 

“Just go clean up and we’ll take you home. I’m afraid you’ll have to ride back naked, since you ruined your clothes.” Scott headed around the house to the hose in the back, and Jackson followed after glaring for another minute. Peter caught Derek’s waist as he moved to put the leftover pizza in his car. 

“See you at home,” he murmured, kissing Derek quickly before going to make sure the boys were behaving. He couldn’t trust teenage boys alone with their dicks.

\-------------------------

64  
 **Warnings:** Mentions of Kate; nothing descriptive  
 **Pairing:** Sterek  
 **Notes:** Missing scene from _Visionary_ episode that helps explain how Stiles knew about Kate.  


Stiles sat alone in Derek’s loft, long after Peter and Cora both disappeared to who knows where. He was surprised that Cora didn’t want to get to the truth. 

Derek entered the loft, dragging the door closed with ease before he turned, spotted Stiles and stopped. “Why’re you here?” 

”I have some questions,” Stiles said after a long, hesitant pause. He stood up from the island counter. “Peter told us about Paige. And werewolf eye color.” The words were quiet, respectful. He could see the surprise on Derek’s face and felt his heart speed up. 

”What do you want?” Derek asked, voice weary and defeated. 

Stiles gaped, mouth opening and closing a few times before he formulated what he wanted to say. He crossed to Derek, hesitating before reaching out and lightly gripping his shoulder. “First, I’m sorry. If what Peter told us was the truth, what happened to her sucks.” 

Derek flashed his eyes and growled, “Did he tell you that I’m the reason she’s dead? That I had to kill her when the bite I never wanted her to have didn’t take?” 

”Uh, that’s not exactly how he said it,” Stiles said, wincing. “Dude, from what I can tell, that isn’t your fault. Ennis bit her and her body rejected the bite.” 

”Don’t call me dude.” The words didn’t have their usual bite. Slumping, Derek moved to lean against the island, back to Stiles. “You don’t know what I’m to blame for, Stiles. You should leave. The past doesn’t concern you.” 

Stiles sighed and moved until his hand was resting on Derek’s shoulder, aware that he was taking his life in his hands. “It does if you’re still beating yourself up over it.” He didn’t know why he cared, but he did. 

”Go away,” Derek bit out. “I don’t want to talk about it. 

“Well, we kinda need you to, Derek. If a member of the Alpha Pack was involved, it could help us understand them better,” Stiles countered. 

Derek growled, a low threatening rumble. “Nothing about Paige is your business. Leave it alone.” 

Grabbing Derek, Stiles caught him by surprise with a tug and managed to get him to turn around. “Stop shutting me out!” he yelled. “I’m trying to help, Derek. In case you don’t remember, we’re all in danger here. Stuff that you know, that happened to you might have bearing on us getting out of this alive.” 

”Oh, you think so?” Derek said menacingly. He pushed back from the island, slowly but steadily walking Stiles back to the far wall while he spoke. “You don’t have a right to my past,” he growled. “Or my pain.” 

Stiles reacted without thinking, grabbing Derek’s hand and squeezing it tight. “I don’t have a right, but I want to help. Let me help,” he said quietly and steadily even while his heart raced. 

Derek snorted. “How can you help? You can’t make it go away, you can’t erase the past. Paige won’t be alive and I won’t have helped Kate kill my family.” He sucked in a shocked breath, unable to believe he’d said the words aloud. 

”Kate? Killed your family?” Stiles asked, his brain slotting and locking his realizations into place. “Oh god, Derek,” he said, reaching up and grabbing Derek’s bicep. “Fuck.” 

”I don’t know why I said that,” Derek said, voice quiet, almost scared. “It’s my fault she knew how and when to get in the house. It’s my fault she set them all on fire. She was my destructive distraction after Paige...though I didn’t know just how destructive until it was too late.” 

“Jesus, Derek,” Stiles said. “It’s still not your fault. She’s the only one to blame.” 

Derek shook his head and Stiles sighed. “You’re not responsible,” Stiles said, squeezing Derek’s arm. 

”Stiles, let me go,” Derek said, voice even with a hint of warning. 

”No,” Stiles said. Without conscious thought he pushed forward into Derek’s space, slid his hand behind Derek’s neck and kissed him the way he’d wanted to for longer than he even knew. 

Derek went still for a heart-breaking moment before he tugged Stiles closer and deepened the kiss with a moan. 

Stiles relaxed against Derek, tangling his hand into Derek’s hair and whimpering at the noises that pulled from Derek’s throat. He pulled back only enough to speak softly. “I don’t want your past or your pain, Derek, but I want a future...your future. Let’s get started on that by killing these Alpha Assholes.” 

\-------------------------

65  
 **Warnings:** None  
 **Pairing:** Derek/Allison  
 **Notes:** What if Allison had never taken Scott back in the first episode? What if, during the ride home from the party with Derek, she discovered she wanted him instead.

 

Allison followed Scott out of the house, frowning. Scott didn't look well, acting weird. _Drugs?_ she thought, watching him stumble-run away from her.

“Allison. I'm a friend of Scott's. My name's Derek.”

Allison turned, even more confused at this older guy, wearing a leather jacket, claiming to be Scott's friend? The guy was gorgeous, but had a weird aura around him.

“Scott sent me to get you home.”

“Is he alright?” Allison asked.

“He's fine,” Derek said, with an air of finality that Allison wanted to push. “I've got a car, over here.”

Derek led her to a dark car, and she slid into the passenger seat. She had a quick vision of what her father would say if he know what she was doing, but he also had taught her how to look after herself. She thought she was a good judge of character and Derek intrigued her. Something about him made her want to push and poke and see what was there.

~~~

It was a few weeks after, the next time she saw Derek. Allison knew a bit more then, but still there was something about Derek that intrigued her. She saw him, hanging around the school, and she assumed he knew that she knew he was there.

Allison entertained fantasies when she was bored in Economics, fantasies of what could've happened in the car if she was in some kind of Harlequin novel. Images of tanned muscles and finger shaped bruises on her hips. She imagined his cock, thick and hard against her, inside her.

She rubbed her fingers over her clit as she imagined his voice saying her name, rougher, breathlessly and came in clenching pulses.

~~~

Allison started to notice a pattern, between Scott and Stiles' mood and Derek's presence, and she started to use it.

She wore short skirts those days, just walking the line of what was acceptable. Scott didn't seem to notice the pattern. If Stiles did he didn't say anything. 

Allison walked over to Derek’s car after school and climbed in. 

“Why do you hang out here, anyway?” 

“I have business with Scott,” Derek said, shortly. 

“Scott never mentions you.”

“Its complicated. I - Scott would have to tell you,” Derek said, shaking his head. He muttered something that definitely sounded like the words _kill_ and _find out_.

“Is it anything illegal?” Allison asked, taking a deep breath. 

“No, not really,” Derek said. “It’s -”

“Complicated,” Allison finished. 

“Exactly,” Derek said. He lifted a hand, reaching out halfway to Allison then dropped it suddenly. Allison wanted him to touch her. She shifted in her seat, not sure what the rules were here. 

“You going to drive me home?”

Derek sighed again. “May as well, Scott’s not going to talk to me anyway.”   
~~~

Allison jumped as something rattled against her bedroom window, startling her from her studying. She opened the window, and gasped. Derek was crouching in the tree in her garden.

“What are you doing?” She hissed at him. Derek just raised his eyebrows at her. Allison rolled her eyes. “Get in before my father sees you.”

Derek leapt at the window, catching the sill. She stepped back as he hauled himself through the window.

“Your father isn't in. I wouldn't be here otherwise.”

Allison ducked her head in response. 

“I didn’t - I’m not -” Derek sighed. “You watch me.” 

“You do the same,” Allison said, head tilting up defiantly. 

Derek nodded. “You want to do something about that?” 

“I do,” Allison said, heart rate increasing. “Do you?” 

Derek nodded, eyes roaming from her face. 

Allison was in her pajamas, shorts and a vest, and she could feel her nipples harden against the material of her top. She knew Derek saw them, and he lifted her top, hands so warm against her breasts. She whined as he thumbed at her nipples, pushing a knee between her legs. Allison let out a breath as she pushed forward against him, friction almost painful against her clit. 

Allison kissed him, clumsily, hands clenching against the leather of his jacket. Derek kept up the pressure and movement until she started to shudder against him, breath escaping in high pitched whines against Derek’s face.

\-------------------------

66  
 **Warnings:** overstimulation  
 **Pairing:** Derek/Stiles  
 **Notes:**

“Your brother’s really mean, Scott,” Stiles says when they’re five and Derek, who’s seven, ruins their sand house with his bike. 

“Yeah.” Scott’s shoulders droop. The sand slides out from its neatly shaped pile. “Mom says we can’t give him away.”

~

“Your brother’s _so_ cool,” Stiles says when Derek is twelve and has all the best baseball cards because he traded half of his duplicates.

Scott doesn’t look up from his maths homework. “Is not.” His tongue peeks out at the corner of his mouth as he slowly moves his pencil in the shape of a nine. 

Stiles is about to protest, but shuts up when Derek comes into the kitchen to grab Kool-Aid from the fridge. 

“Hey, Stiles,” Derek says. “I got another one of these from Boyd.” He throws down a Roy Halladay card next to Stiles’ book. “You can have it.”

Stiles beams at his back, impervious to Scott’s glower.

~

“Your brother’s such an asshole,” Stiles says when one of Derek’s friends shoulder bumps him into his locker again. High school sucks.

~

“Dude, your brother is so stupidly hot,” Stiles says when they’re sixteen and drunk and Stiles has come to the conclusion that dicks are really great.

“Oh, God, ew!” Scott throws himself down onto the floor and shields his eyes. 

Stiles laughs, taking another sip of beer. It’s disgusting. But he doesn’t think the taste’s the point of drinking. 

“Why would you _say that_?”

“Because it’s the absolute, honest to god truth.” He makes a face. “Paige is so fucking lucky.”

“Oh god, Stiles, can you please have this conversation with someone else?”

Derek finds them drunk and giggling in Scott’s room, and uses the picture he snaps to blackmail Scott for the rest of his high school career.

~

“God, you’re so… so…” The rest of the sentence crumbles in Stiles’ head, drowned out by the never ending mantra of, _Oh Christ, Derek’s hands, Derek’s lips, Derek’s beard, Derek’s everything_.

It’s hot in Derek’s room. The sheets stick to his naked back and Derek’s hand is like a brand on his inner thigh, spreading his legs wider. His cheeks grow hot, and he turns his face into the pillow that smells like Derek. Fuck, what does he even look like to Derek right now? His legs spread wide like he has no shame, his cock so hard he thinks he’s going to come if Derek so much as breathes on it. 

“So what?” Derek says, and Stiles can’t connect his thoughts, can’t figure out what Derek is asking. 

“Scott’s gonna kill me.” 

Derek laughs, and then a cold, slicked finger brushes along Stiles’ rim. His leg jerks and Derek soothes it with a brief touch. “It’s not a very good idea to bring up family members when people are naked, Stiles.”

“God, sorry, it’s just—” _I’ve thought about this since my first wank._

Stiles’ eyes fly open when his hole takes Derek’s finger, the overwhelming feeling of someone else inside making his back arch. The familiarity of Derek’s room is disorienting. He’d never expected to be on this bed, the baseball posters and the display of Derek’s awards catching the edge of his vision, with Derek’s fingers in his ass. 

He lets out a long moan and rocks down on Derek’s hand. Lifting his head, he catches a glimpse of Derek staring down with intent, his lips parted. God, Derek came home from his first year of college all broad-shouldered and amazing, flirting with Stiles like that wasn’t something completely earth-shattering. And it ended with this: with Derek fingerbanging him.

Derek suddenly brushes against a spot that makes Stiles shake, his mouth losing control of the sounds he makes. 

“Yeah,” Derek says, pumping his hand fast, hitting at the same angle mercilessly until Stiles comes so hard he sees spots. 

Derek doesn’t stop. 

“Can you come like this again, Stiles? For me.” The words are pressed to Stiles’ knee as the fingers slide back in, slow. 

Stiles writhes, his nerves oversensitive. The fingers feel almost twice as big in him, and the bursts of pleasure they elicit border on pain. Threading that line is overwhelming. He can’t stay still. 

“Look at you take it. Fuck, wanted this. Wanted this so bad,” Derek says. 

The tips of Derek’s fingers brush his prostate. Stiles twists, his leg tangling in the sheets as he sobs weakly. 

Derek wipes away the wetness at the corner of Stiles’ eyes with his thumb.

\-------------------------

67  
 **Warnings:** mild dub-con because Lydia doesn't know she's being lied too and manipulated  
 **Pairing:** Pydia (young!Peter)  
\--  
Lydia feels like her life is a beautifully constructed home.

There's more rooms than you know what to do with them. The inside is prettier than the outside and it is the envy of the neighbor. But everyone's too busy ooh-ing and aah-ing over the extravagance to notice the house is slowly sinking. 

She feels like she's drowning in the middle of an ocean at night. There's darkness all around her, threatening to engulf her whole. People whisper around her, some of them openly gloating about her 'fall from grace'. A few, more confident (bitchy) girls have come up to her and told her how they were going to snatch Jackson up now that he'd dumped her.

Lydia coolly stares them down before walking away. She's better than them. She's got other things on her mind.

(No, she's not talking about the dark haired man who is haunting her. Lydia forces herself not to think about him and it works. Until night falls and she has to sleep. No matter how hard she tries not to fall asleep and dream of him, Lydia always fails. And Lydia doesn't like to dwell on her failures.)

Like the cute boy she'd met outside the counselor's office. 

The same boy who has just returned Prada to her and is offering her a pretty purple flower, flirtatiously asking her to keep it or she'll hurt his feelings.

Lydia smiles back, gently twirling the flower by its stem before peeking up at the boy. "I wouldn't want to hurt your feelings. After all, you did save Prada."

"Is that the only reason?" He asks lowly, blue eyes locked on her.

Her lashes flutter as she looks down, teeth gently biting down on her lower lip. Lydia is pleased when the coy action makes his eyes dip down to her mouth before coming back up. 

"Maybe." Lydia tucks the flower behind her ear before hooking a finger into the boy's collar. "I think I should thank you properly." 

It's the best worst idea she's had in a while.

The boy's pupils dilate, gaze turning predatory and pleased as he follows Lydia into her home and to her bed.

He's nothing like Jackson. Jackson made love to her like a teenager - more enthusiasm than skill. 

But this boy is different. 

He kisses her like he's hungry and she's a feast. He pushes her down on the bed, rucks her dress up and panties down in sharp but smooth motions before burying his face between her legs. Lydia feels her toes curl, mouth open to let out every obscene sound she can make. 

He breaks her apart, over and over again. And when he's confident she won't ever be whole again, does he push into her and ruin her.

It isn't until later does she realize how deep the damage went.

Even after she knows the truth of how Peter manipulated doesn't stop her from revisiting the memory. In the dark of the night, when she's sure no one can see her, does she let herself think about his tongue and fingers. Burning with shame and desire, Lydia arches her back off her bed and fingers herself to an unsatisfactory orgasm.

Her dirty little secret causes the cracks to grow, threatening the stability of her home and self. She knows she shouldn't but Lydia can't help herself. Call her a helpless slave to pleasure. 

The boys she sleeps with after Jackson leaves are just that. Boys. They don't know how to please her. They are quick to fall back when she pushes them down and hold her hips too gently when she rides them. She struggles to come, rubbing her clit carelessly and remembering how Peter's lips had felt there.

Want burns inside of her, licking against her skin in the aftermath of her latest encounter. She wants more. She wants her partner to push back, to leave bruises on her skin, to fuck her until her hips ache.

She wants Peter but makes do with Aidan. 

It's a temporary solution.

When she walks into Derek's apartment, cunt throbbing from the sense memory of Peter filling her up, Peter inhales sharply and stares at her. Lydia refuses to look at him and acknowledge that she can only fight the desire off for so long before succumbing.

\-------------------------

68  
 **Warnings:** attempted suicide  
 **Pairing:** Chris/Victoria

Victoria has the knife pressed to her chest, and the light of the full moon shining through Allison's window glints off the blade. "I can't do this myself."

It's not until the handle is in Chris' hand that his conviction waivers. She leans back against him, like he's her pillar. It's familiar and foreign all at once.

They'd sat like this for hours, staring at the waves on the white sand beaches of the Dominican during their honeymoon, then again watching over their newborn girl sleeping in her crib the night they brought her home. 

Chris has held Victoria when she needed his stability, his comfort, his love. It feels like a betrayal to hold her this same way now. 

"Chris." Her hand trembles beneath his. "Help me."

She needs him to be stronger than her for once in his life. But tightening his grip on the weapon that will kill his wife feels nothing like strength. 

"Now," she says, as her eyes flash golden. 

He's never felt more like a coward; the irony is that he feels no fear of the transformation taking over his wife. His fear is reserved for losing her.

He hesitates only a second because Victoria is clever and quick. If she reads him now, she'll gather the strength to finish herself off, no matter how much she claims to need him. 

So he moves fast, pitching the knife across the room, and whipping out the cuffs he keeps on his belt. He feels guilty that he's abused a rare moment of vulnerability -- that's something he's never done to Victoria in their twenty years of marriage. 

But he doesn't regret it when her arms are stretched above her head, and she's bound to Allison's headboard. Safe. 

She trashes against the bed enough that he has to straddle her. 

When she snarls, he presses his weight down on her, shushing gently. "Gerard," he whispers.

She scowls but seems to understand. Gerard's still around and right now Chris wants this to remain between them. 

The fact that Victoria doesn't shout for him is a good sign. "Thank you," Chris says. 

 

"You need to kill me." Her face is wolf, but her words, her voice, her conviction… It's all _Victoria_. Chris realizes how wrong Gerard was when he claimed Chris had already lost her. 

He shakes his head then kisses her cheek. "I won't." When she doesn't snap her jaws at him, he moves to the crease of her lips.

"You need to." She chokes on a sob.

"I'm not giving you up." Chest aching, he nips at her jaw and down her neck. He kisses her breast, taking comfort in her heartbeat. "We'll make this work."

"Don't let me become a _thing_." Tears in her eyes, she yanks at her cuffs, and the wood of the headboard groans. 

The moon's high. He can feel Victoria's body leaning towards it, but he can also see her relax, gain focus with his every gentle touch. He's already anchoring her and hope swells inside him. 

"You'll never be a _thing_." He lifts her top, kisses her belly, and she shivers. "You'll be Allison's mother," he says and unbuttons her slacks. "You'll be my wife."

She gasps as he noses her ginger curls. "I'll be dangerous."

Chris laughs and tugs her pants lower, then off. "My love, you've always been dangerous."

He kneels between his wife's thighs and she flashes her eyes at him. "I could snap your neck with my thighs now."

He hums, delighted. "I have no doubt you could've done that the very first time I was in this position." He strokes her legs in appreciation of their power, then buries his head between them and licks her wetness. 

He stops long enough to say, "You don't taste any different to me," and goes back for more. 

"Chris," she pleads, not for death this time.

He pumps his fingers into her, tonguing her clit in the way years of pleasing her have taught him. He knows her body; that hasn't changed. She's wild under his touch, unrestrained and beautiful in her feralness. He devours and worships her until his jaw aches and she's spent, boneless beneath him. 

He's still watching her later when they've moved back to their bed and she's resting peacefully on his chest.

Her brow furrowed, she whispers, "Allison--"

He kisses her forehead, stopping her before she can finish. "Allison will think you're the bravest woman she's ever known."

\-------------------------

69  
 **Warnings:** None  
 **Pairing:** Scott/Allison

 

“Just relax,” Scott’s voice was soft. Allison was straddling him where he sat on her bed, thighs warm against his skin. Scott was buried inside of her, forcing himself to keep still as she adjusted. Her nails were digging into his sides.

“I am relaxed.” She breathed out eyes closed.

Scott smiled, feeling the way her nails were growing into claws and ripping into his skin. It only hurt a little, healing as she soon as she pulled back. “I can see that.” He didn’t even try to keep the amusement out of his voice, the affection.

Her eyes opened, flashing yellow at him before settling into their normal shade of brown. 

__

_Allison’s breathe came in harsh pants, blood seeping through her hand from where she held it against her stomach._

_Scott pulled her into his arms, replaying in his mind the moment the sword went through her and back out. It couldn’t be taken back, it had happened. He could smell the blood in the air and knew there was already too much of it._

_“Did you find her,” her voice was barely a whisper “is Lydia safe?”_

_“She’s okay.” Scott reassured her, brushing the hair back from her face. Hand reaching for hers because he didn’t want her to be in pain, he didn’t want her to be dying in his arms._

_“Allison,” black veins crawled up his arm and he was surprised by how much it didn’t hurt, numbness taking over and seeping into him. He couldn’t deny what that meant. “Allison, I have to bite you.” His voice broke and he held her closer. “You’re going to die, it’s the only way. I have to bite you.”_

_There was blood on her lips and she stared up at him for an agonizing moment before pulling herself together, her breathing evening out. “Okay, okay do it.” Her voice was stronger than it had been a moment before and her hand slipped into his._

_Scott left the shift take over him, his eyes flashing red._

__

She groaned pulling off him and collapsing behind him “You know this used to be a lot easier?” 

“What,” Scott brushed his hand up her sides soothingly his voice playful “sneaking in a quickie while your dad wasn’t home?” 

“Yes,” she signed in frustration and Scott could still hear the way her heart hammered away, could smell her arousal in the air. He knew she could smell it too. “I should be able to have sex with my boyfriend without destroying my bed or god hurting him.” Her voice rose at that last part.

__

_“How do we know if it takes?” Scott asked softly remembering what had happened with Lydia. Allison was laid out in her bed, just as unconscious as she’d been after Peter had bit her. He was so afraid._

_“It took,” Chris looked determined “the fact that she’s alive means it took.” his eyes shifted to wear Derek leaned against the door and Derek nodded, reassuring him. Scott was taking it as a good sign that Chris wasn’t pointing a gun at him._

_He definitely did not look like he wanted to kill Scott for turning his only child into the very thing he hunted. If Scott looked away from Allison long enough he might have even looked a little relieved._

_Scott wanted to believe that, wanted to share the same faith Chris and Derek did that Allison was going to make it through this._

__

“I heal.” Scott offered brightly “And we can take it slow, I could go down on you again.”

Her dad wasn’t due back until late that night which meant Allison felt secure enough to be stripped bare in front of him. It meant he could see the blush that spread across her skin.

Before she could say something about how it was his turn Scott let her know “I enjoy doing it.” She laughed her hair falling over her shoulders and Scott reached to tuck a stray strand behind her ear. “It gets easier, you learn control.” 

She leaned into his touch; breathe picking up, her hand holding his against her face. “I didn’t know you had to control yourself that much with me.” She sounded guilty.

Scott wrapped his hand around the back of her neck, pulling her forward into a soft kiss. “Well now I don’t,” he let his nails lengthen against her skin “and you don’t have to either.” 

That night they might have destroyed the bed just a little bit.


	4. Group D (with warnings)

70  
 **Warnings:** None  
 **Pairing:** Derek/Laura/Stiles  
 **Notes:** Laura lives... And trying to matchmake Stiles and Derek, she doesn't mind when she ends up in the middle of it...

[](http://imgur.com/5OPwXcK)

\-------------------------

71  
 **Warnings:**  
 **Pairing: sterek**  
 **Notes:**

[](http://imgur.com/8D7J9oI)

\-------------------------

72  
 **Warnings: Underage**   
**Pairing: Derek/Stiles**  
 **Notes: Before Derek leaves Beacon Hills with Cora, Stiles comes to see him and something happens that neither expects.**

[](http://imgur.com/dE4zsEz)

\-------------------------

73  
 **Warnings:** None  
 **Pairing:** Stiles/OMC  
 **Notes:** The Sheriff never got reinstated after losing his job. Stiles finds other ways to help out with money.

[](http://imgur.com/m1TBlce)

\-------------------------

74  
 **Warnings:** Threesome, fingering, cunnilingus  
 **Pairing:** Cora/Erica/Boyd  
 **Notes:** Erica never died, and was held with prisoner by the Alpha Pack with Cora and Boyd. Cora convinces them to stay in Beacon Hills (and with her) after they escape, and Derek comes to regret not getting the loft better sound proofing.

[](http://imgur.com/eFPV5tv)

\-------------------------

75  
 **Warnings:** None  
 **Pairing:** Derek/Stiles  
 **Notes:** Alternative Pool Scene (2x04 Abomination)  
[](http://imgur.com/BmqCdYG)

\-------------------------

76  
 **Warnings:** none  
 **Pairing:** Stiles/Isaac  
 **Notes:** Peter bit Stiles that first night, not Scott. After Derek kicks Isaac out, he moves in with his omega friend and the Sheriff. Stiles and Isaac get a lot closer.

[](http://imgur.com/4QxD73M)

\-------------------------

77  
 **Warnings:**  
 **Pairing:** Sterek  
 **Notes:** What if Derek had decided to thank Stiles in a special way after he held him up for two hours in the pool?  
[](http://imgur.com/yxuyPWQ)

\-------------------------

78  
 **Pairing:** Sterek  
 **Notes:** Stiles accepts the bite from Peter. Derek becomes his Alpha and lover after he kills his uncle. 

 

[](http://imgur.com/8jKjkcy)

\-------------------------

79  
 **Pairing:** Danny/Jackson  
 **Notes:** **Pairing:** Danny/Jackson  
 **Notes:** Jackson and Danny were always more than just friends.

[](http://imgur.com/NQzDoD3)

\-------------------------

80  
 **Warnings:** sexual themes  
 **Pairing:** vague! boyd/erica | scott/isaac | lydia/allison | derek/stiles though you can imagine different pairings  <3  
 **Notes:** s2 Canon Divergence where Erica and Boyd are alive, everyone is pack and they bond emotionally and physically all with each other to get stronger. In other words gang band + puppy pile AU!

[](http://imgur.com/nLw3Rk2) [](http://imgur.com/Mt5FVzC) [](http://imgur.com/sWKFiiS) [](http://imgur.com/qhV5wwt)


	5. Group A (no warnings)

Group A

1.  
 **Notes:** 1.11 Jackson finds Peter outside the formal in the woods, not Chris, and is bitten by him. Instead of clawing Lydia, Peter bites her as well. Stiles finds them on the field moments after Lydia is bitten.

Stiles’ hands took as he knelt by Lydia, her dress bloodied and soiled. Above him, Peter stood stoically with an arched eyebrow.

“What have you done?” Stiles agonized as he touched Lydia’s face.

“I’ve built my pack,” Peter said, simply. “And I’m not through yet.” Stiles flinched as Peter put a claw beneath his chin, urging him to his feet. Stiles scrambled, the feel of blood dripping down his neck making his heart rate skyrocket.

“Jackson accepted me as his alpha,” Peter said with a grin. “I’m sure once Lydia realizes her new powers, she will do the same.”

“Why are you doing this?” Stiles asked. Peter tilted his head as he pressed a clawed thumb against Stiles’ lower lip, holding onto Stiles’ chin. Stiles’ entire body shook beneath Peter’s grasp.

“Instinct,” Peter said as he leaned forward, whispering into Stiles’ ear. “I need a pack. If you’re already friends, the bond will be stronger. Scott will yield to me, Derek too.”

“What makes you think that?” Stiles asked, looking down at Lydia’s body. “Jackson and Lydia--”

“Aren’t the only ones I plan on turning,” Peter smirked as he forced his thumb into Stiles’ mouth. Stiles whimpered as the sharp claw pressed against his tongue, forcing him back to his knees. “With you by my side, Scott will bow down before me.” Stiles tried to protest, but couldn’t speak as Peter shredded his formal shirt. It fell, tattered, to the ground, the cool winter air giving Stiles goosebumps, making his nipples hard.

“You would make a powerful werewolf, Stiles,” Peter said, his voice smooth. “Your mind would no longer be addled, you’d no longer need to pop those pills to keep your train of thought from straying.”

Stiles gasped when Peter finally took his thumb from Stiles’ mouth.

“No,” Stiles said vehemently. Peter pouted, tilting his head as he grasped the back of his neck, shoving Stiles’ face against his crotch.

“Pity,” Peter said. “Because I’m going to turn you anyways.” Stiles watched as Peter unzipped his pants, showing Stiles his hard, uncut cock, already dripping precome. “You’ll be mine, marked as my mate. No one will touch you.” Peter thrust forward, pressing his cock against Stiles’ mouth, forcing it down Stiles’ throat as his claws dug into Stiles’ neck. As tears trailed down Stiles’ cheeks, Peter wiped at them with his fingers. He licked them clean as he fucked into Stiles’ mouth.

“Your mouth is mine to be used,” Peter hissed. Stiles shut his eyes as he held onto Peter’s thighs, seeking something to hold onto.

Stiles gasped for air as Peter pulled back. He pushed Stiles onto the ground, onto his back. He tried to get away, clawing at the ground around him as Peter straddled him, pinning him to the ground. He held Stiles’ hands above his head with one hand, his claws digging into Stiles’ wrists. Grinning, Peter looked down at him.  
“I enjoy your struggling, Stiles.” Peter bent over, biting down on Stiles’ neck, breaking the skin. Stiles screamed as he thrashed, sobbing from the pain. Peter, his mouth bloody, wrapped his other hand around Stiles’ throat as he spread Stiles’ legs with his knees. Stiles choked, his mouth open wide as tears streamed down his face. “You’ll look so beautiful when I’m through with you.”

Stiles shut his eyes as he heard the rip of his pants after Peter let go of his throat. Peter thrust against him as he bent down, kissing Stiles on the lips, forcing his bloody tongue into Stiles’ mouth. The taste of blood made Stiles gag as Peter rut against him. Peter smeared Stiles’ blood down his chest as he came, mixing them both together before licking them up. Stiles sobbed as Peter kissed him again.

“You’re mine, now.”

 

\-------------------------

2

When Danny was seven, his dad got a job offer in California that he ultimately turned down after talking it over with Danny's grandparents and his fifty million aunties and uncles. Life was just too good in Maui, there would just be too many people to miss, and so it was settled that they wouldn't move. It was a non-event in Danny's life, one he wasn't consulted for, just something he heard talked about at the dinner table a few times and then promptly forgot.

The day Danny shipped off to study at the University of Hawaii at Manoa was not a non-event. There were tears and hugging and big dinners for a week at various aunties' houses, and when his parents finally drove away and left him in his dorm, Danny realized that it was the first time in his life that he wouldn't be surrounded by the million-voice chorus of his family.

He meets a guy in his intro to psych class called Jackson Whittemore. Actually, he meets him on the beach at Waikiki where he teaches surfing part time to help pay for tuition. He assumes Jackson's a tourist because he's way too pale to live in Hawaii, and he teaches him how to paddle out. He's not very good at getting up on the board, yet, but Danny promises him he'll get the hang of it soon enough with his excellent guidance. He might have been flirting a little bit. It isn't until the next class, when he sees Jackson's impossibly chiseled face sitting near the front, that he realizes they're classmates.

He walks over after class, asks if he wants to grab lunch. They go get some loco moco at a food truck and Danny finds out that Jackson's from California. He still looks a bit too pale for that, and Jackson says, "Not the hot part you're thinking of. Further north. With woods and shit."

"And what brings you to UH?"

"The excellent business program," he deadpans, and it takes a second for Danny to catch that he's joking because UH does actually have an excellent business program, thank you very much.

"I just needed to get away from all the people I grew up with," he clarifies after a while. "What better way to get away than crossing the ocean and landing in paradise?"

He sounds like every dumb jock blond tourist surf rat who's ever paid Danny too little an hour to not give a shit about what it really means to feel the ocean, and Danny tells him that right before Jackson grabs him by the chin and presses their mouths together.

They have a lot of sex.

Danny luckily has a single dorm, but they don't fuck there often because Jackson is picky about how small and uncomfortable the bed is. Jackson's parents are, predictably, rich as hell and they've got Jackson set up in a nice apartment off campus, so mostly they fuck there unless Danny needs to be on campus for an early morning class. They fuck on basically every horizontal surface there, and some vertical ones.

Months pass. At some point, Danny thinks their honeymoon period should have worn off and they should stop feeling the need to fuck like rabbits twice, three times a day. It doesn't wear off.

Sometime before summer holidays, they finally come up for air and Danny says, "Christ, where have you been all my life?"

"In Beacon Hills," Jackson says, in his deadpan.

"You wouldn't have liked me if we'd be sooner," he follows up, the way he always follows up a deadpan joke with something genuine. "I was a major dick."

"You still are," Danny points out.

"No, but—" he pauses to kiss Danny again and his tongue presses between Danny's teeth like it belongs there— "all this crazy shit went down. It wasn't a good scene."

"You had to get away."

"I did," he confirms solemnly. "I'm glad you waited to meet me, post-shit."

Jackson comes clean about what he meant by crazy shit on the next full moon.

It should disturb Danny that pretty much immediately after that bombshell, they fuck outside on the beach, under the moonlight, after Jackson's shifted back to human form because Danny's kinky but not _that_ kinky. It should disturb him, but it doesn't really.

Danny invites Jackson to spend the summer back home with him and his parents and his fifty million aunties and uncles on Maui.

 

\-------------------------

3

**Notes:** what if Isaac went to Stiles, instead of Scott, that raining night.

 

Stiles’s life turned _weirder_ the night Isaac stood in his doorway, dripping wet from the rain outside.

“Can you even be more of a cliche?” Stiles tapped his math book, watching the floor get wetter.

“I need a place to stay, and I thought…”

“Here? Why not where you _were_ staying?”

“I...I can’t. Derek, he’s...got a lot going on. And Scott...I just don’t want them fighting.”

Stiles pushed his homework off his lap. “Scott and I are a package deal. If you have issues with him-”

“No,” Isaac shook his head. “You are not as hard on Derek. Scott--he and Derek butt heads and...”

“I get it dude.” Stiles sighed. “Come on, let’s get you dried off, and I’ll call my dad. But no wolfy stuff in the house. My dad’s in the dark, and I’d like to keep it that way.” Stiles moved past Isaac, grabbing a dry towel from the hall closet.

 

The Sheriff took one look at Isaac, sleeping on the couch, and told Stiles he expected Isaac to follow the same rules about house and school work.

And from then on, the Stilinski household had three.

Stiles didn’t know if it was a werewolf thing, or an Isaac thing, but living with Isaac was … odd.

 

Like his obsession with taking Stiles’s clothes.

“Dude, is Isaac wearing your shirt?” Scott nodded over to where Isaac sat in class.

Stiles looked over. Sure enough, Isaac was wearing his shirt. Stiles just shook his head.

Glancing back at Scott, Stiles whispered, “Is this a normal wolf thing? It’s, like, the third time this week.”

Scott’s eyes slid over to Isaac, narrowing. Isaac just gave them both a half smirk, running his hand over the cotton sleeve of the pilfered shirt.

 

Then there was the thing with food. Stiles couldn’t figure out if Isaac has a canine instinct to steal food, or if he was just a dick, but Stiles’s afternoon snack always turned into a game of tug of war.

“Dude, make your own grilled cheese!” Stiles tried to grab the plate Isaac held out of reach.

“But I like the way you make them better.”

Stiles grabbed the front of Isaac’s shirt, trying to get better leverage. “Don’t care. Gimme!” Stiles went from yanking on Isaac to a mouth full of hot cheese sandwich in seconds, thanks to werewolf speed.

Snatching the rest of the sandwich out of Isaac’s hand, Stiles stepped away from Isaac and headed up stairs, mumbling “asshole” around his food.

 

And then there were the nights he would crawl into Stiles bed, shaking. Stiles wouldn’t say anything those nights, just roll toward Isaac and rub soothing circles on his back. Stiles would always wake the next morning warm with their fingers entangled.

 

And then there was the werewolf love for slamming Stiles into walls. It didn’t take long before Stiles picked out the bad-mouthing-Derek to slammed-into-wall connection.

But Stiles really put his foot down when those occurrences became more frequent. Or Isaac would hold him there longer.

“Okay, what gives? Is this, like, _Intimidation 101_? Did you learn the toss-the-human-into-the-wall trick in werewolf basic boot camp?

“No.” Isaac let his eyes flash yellow, and his teeth slide past his upper lip. “We have _other_ ways.”

“You know you slur around your fangs?”

Isaac blinked twice, mouth dropped in shock. “Why are you not afraid?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about. You have your claws popped out, and me backed into a corner.”

“Your scent hasn't changed.”

Stiles put his hands on Isaac’s shoulders, trying to push him off. “Don’t smell me dude. That’s got to be a violation of privacy.”

Isaac moved one hand to Stiles hip, leaning in and pinning him down. Stiles felt Isaac work a thigh in between his legs and push up, causing Stiles to gasp.

“No. I think you like it.” Isaac’s voice was deep and husky as he rocked his thigh slowly.

Stiles curled his fingers, holding on. “Isaac, I swear to God, if you make me come in my jeans, in the hallway, I am putting wolfsbane in your breakfast.

Isaac pulled one of Stiles’s hands off his shoulder, licking the pulse point on the wrist before stepping back, pulling Stiles toward his room. “No, not on a wall.”

Isaac might be a pushy bastard, but Stiles could get use to it.

 

\-------------------------

4

“But it’s not just someone to hold you under. It needs to be someone who can pull you back, someone that has a strong connection to you, a kind of emotional tether.”

Scott looked over at Allison.

“Lydia, you go with Allison. Stiles with me. And Isaac will be your anchor Scott.”

Scott thought about protesting, but when he looked over at Isaac he thought it made a certain kind of sense.

 

~*~

Scott was lost in the woods.

Being back in that night after he was first bit was too much for him. He could feel the fear and confusion when he saw the wolf. He stumbled further into the woods.

All of a sudden he heard something growling. He turned around slowly. He couldn’t see anything. Scott peered into the darkness and began to tremble violently, as he heard the growling start again.

Soon, Scott saw a horrible pair of red eyes coming closer and closer. The wolf wasn’t here to bite him. It was here to finish the job this time. Scott didn’t know what to do, as the wolf came closer and closer. He dropped to the ground and covered his head.

But nothing happened.

Until he felt a strong pair of hands grip him.

He could vaguely hear someone calling his name, but he refused to look up.

SCOTT!

The voice’s thundering power instantly had Scott looking up.

Isaac was staring back at him. Scott didn’t know how it was possible.

Isaac looked almost angelic bathed in the moonlight.

“Scott, you need to snap out of this. We need you and time is running out.”

Scott blinked at him in confusion.

“Please, come back to us...Come back to me.” Isaac searched his face with his eyes before he leaned forward and pressed his lips gently to Scott’s.

Scott gasped as he suddenly felt the freezing water surrounding him and broke through to the surface.

~*~

It had all worked out. Somehow they had managed to save everyone, and no one died - no one they cared about anyway.

Scott didn’t even know what to think about being an Alpha now. Part of him, couldn’t even wrap his head around it. He was far more preoccupied with what happened after he’d gone under the ice.

He turned his head, and Isaac was sitting in the backseat of the car with his head down. He looked lost in thought. He had been refusing to make eye contact with Scott all night and he didn’t understand why.

When they got home, Isaac immediately excused himself and shut himself in his room.

Scott trudged upstairs a bit later. He looked over towards Isaac’s room.

He thought about leaving it alone, they’d all had an epically long night, but he couldn’t stop thinking of what happened after he “died.” He couldn’t stop thinking about how Isaac brought him back.

Soon he found himself in Isaac’s room, staring at a startled Isaac. “Come back to us...Come back to me.”

Isaac wrinkled his brow.

“That’s what you said to me when I was in the woods. And then you kissed me.”

Isaac swallowed thickly.

“Did-Did that really happen?”

Isaac took a deep breath and took so long to answer, Scott wasn’t sure if he was going to say anything.

“Stiles and Allison had come back and you hadn’t. I was your tether and I needed to bring you back. Deaton found a way for me to connect with you.”

Scott walked toward him slowly. “But why - why did you kiss me?”

Isaac looked down and wrung his hands.

Scott stopped until he could feel Isaac’s nervous breath on his face. “Isaac?” Scott reached out tentatively and touched Isaac’s cheek.

Isaac’s eyes fluttered closed and his lips parted.

Scott’s eyes were drawn to that mouth. He leaned forward slowly and placed a gentle kiss on Isaac’s mouth.

It took a few seconds, but Isaac finally kissed him back.

Scott gently drew Isaac’s bottom lip into his mouth and carded his fingers in Isaac’s hair as he pressed in closer to him. He could feel Isaac’s hardness against him, as his own pants became tighter.

Scott reached out and cupped Isaac’s erection, as he deepened the kiss.

Isaac moaned into his mouth.

Scott pulled back slowly and ran his thumb across the bottom of Isaac’s lip, and Isaac’s eyes opened halfway.

“Tell me.” Scott whispered.

Isaac chased Scott’s mouth, but Scott pulled away.

“Tell me.”

“You’re my anchor and I’m yours.”

Scott nestled his head against Isaac’s neck and breathed in deeply. “You’re mine?”

Isaac nodded. “I’m yours.”

 

\-------------------------

5

**Notes:** pre-canon AU. Goes AU after Deucalion is blinded by Gerard.

She's beautiful. Sitting in the middle of the forest, nude, her hair spilling over her back in waves. Just looking at her is almost enough to make him forget what he's doing here. Almost enough to forget his father tried to kill this woman, her entire family, and did kill her husband years ago.

Almost enough to forget why he's here; of his own free will, but not by his own choosing. The tradition binding him here is older than the Code and forgotten by too many (his own father among them). Lives of this woman's pack were taken needlessly, violation of Code and treaty both, and balance must be restored.

It might be the only thing that prevents an all out war. If Talia Hale turns on them, there'll be no stopping it.

"You've decided?"

"You know I have."

Talia stands, unembarrassed, and turns to look at him. "Of course." She looks almost sympathetic as she adds, in gentler tones, "However, I still need to hear you say it."

It's almost a mercy Victoria died in the fighting after Gerard's attack on the Alphas. She would never forgive him for making this choice.

"Yes." He takes a breath before committing. "Yes, I agree to the marriage and all it entails."

She tips her head. "And if your daughter, down the line, chooses the Bite?"

"It'll be her choice as much as this was mine."

Talia's smile is resigned. He can understand. She'll be marrying an Argent. Taking him as mate. There will be repercussions for her that he can't even begin to imagine.

Assuming, of course, he survives the wedding.

She holds out her hand and his eyebrows rise. "Shouldn't the others--"

Her lips curve up, teasing, "Do you really believe all the stories you tell about us?"

Chris manages to smile, feeling his cheeks heat. "I suppose not."

"The mark will be proof enough."

When he takes her hand, she steps closer and kisses him. It's chaste, at first, giving him time he doesn't need. He's given his word and he'll see this through. He takes the risk of sliding his free hand into her hair, grabbing the silky length of it, and she makes a soft noise of approval.

Emboldened, he takes the opportunity and deepens the kiss. She tastes sweet, like the coffee she had before her morning run, and he chases the taste. She lets his hand go, reaching between them. His clothes fall quick casualty to claws and he shivers as she presses him to the forest floor.

He can't help staring as she rises over him to settle on his thighs. He wants her. It's a betrayal to think it, but he does. She looks down at him and smiles. "It won't be all bad, you know," she says, voice soft, the rasp pleasant. "You wouldn't be the first to change his mind about us."

"I already have," he admits. "You let us live."

"I don't kill children," she replies, leaning over him. Her breasts are tempting and he cups them. She bites her lip when he thumbs a nipple so he does it again. "And I won't kill you."

"Assuming I survive the Bite."

Talia kisses him, a hint of fang in it, and he's the one growling this time. His hips rock up, chasing the heat of her, and she laughs into the kiss. "You'll survive," she says, rising up to give him what he's all but begging for.

He fucks up hard, unable to stop himself, and her eyes go red.

"You're stubborn," she says, fangs fully extended, "Stubborn counts for a lot."

Chris comes when she bites into him, going deep. He buries his hands in her hair again, holding her against his neck, and rolling them. She lets him and the pain is a sharp sweetness when he fucks into her, the motion pushing him into her mouth.

The noise she makes is both nothing and everything human all at once and he wants to hear it again and again.

He's bleeding when she lets him go, but that doesn't stop him from sliding down to put his mouth on her. She cries out as she comes, the sound echoing through the woods around them, every werewolf for miles able to hear it.

Every werewolf for miles will know he's been marked and claimed by Talia Hale.

Her lips are red with his blood. He kisses her anyway.

He's supposed to regret this.

He doesn't think he will.

 

\-------------------------

6  
 **Notes:** Remember when Stiles yelled out in the locker room that someone needed to sex him up because his virginity was a threat to his life? Well, Isaac heard him and brought the problem before his Alpha...

 

"He propositioned the _entire locker room_?" Derek's growl was sub-vocal, his eyes flashing an angry red. He turned to Boyd and Erica, who still wouldn't meet his gaze after their long months away. "Bring Stiles to me."

\--

Stiles fell out of his computer chair when his window opened, hands covering his dick as his headphones ripped free, blasting loud moans through the room. Twisting around wildly, he looked up to see Boyd and Erica standing inside his bedroom, leather jackets stretched tight over muscular bodies.

"Heeey. Guys. Um. Haha, what are you doing? Put me down!"

\--

"Are you fucking with me right now?"

The unfortunate wording made Cora bark out a laugh. "Not yet, but apparently we're gonna." Displeasure whipped across the room, making her flinch from Derek's anger.

"You're going around town offering people your virginity, Stiles." The _want_ that filled Derek's words made Cora's nipples tighten and her thighs clench against a sudden, aching need. "If you weren't in danger before, you very likely are _now_. Ethan and Aiden are in school with you. What if they heard you? Your only protection is to be claimed by pack."

\--

" _Your_ pack." Stiles crossed his arms over his chest, raising his eyebrows at Derek, who stared back evenly, though his emotions were ripe in the air. _Want, need, satisfaction, possession._ All overlaid by the stench of a horny teenaged boy who'd apparently been primed to masturbate himself blind when Boyd and Erica had collected him. "I'm not a part of your pack. I'm Scott's pack."

"But Scott turned you down, didn't he?" Isaac said, letting the words hang in the air. "I heard you in the locker room. You begged him, told him the risk. And he ignored you. We…" Taking a chance that Derek wouldn't rip his throat out, Isaac stepped forward, winding one arm around Stiles from behind, dragging his palm up the warm skin of his belly. "We just want to keep you safe. You're too important to… us," he whispered, meeting Derek's eyes and watching them flash again.

The catch of Stiles' breath and sudden uptick in his heartbeat was overloud in the quiet room.

\--

"What about you?"

There was no mistaking who Stiles was talking to, or the surge of excitement that poured into the air when Derek stepped forward, getting in Stiles' space. One hand curved around the back of Stiles' neck, squeezing gently before releasing him.

"You're sixteen."

The mingled guilt and discontent that wafted from Derek was strong enough to make Erica choke, but she understood. They all did, in their own ways. Sixteen had been a bad year for Derek.

For all of them, really.

Erica let her hips swing as she stalked toward Stiles, a wicked smile curving her red, red lips. She knew what she looked like, enjoyed the way it made his blood race in his veins. Dragging one perfectly manicured nail along the curve of Stiles' ear, she grinned at Derek. "Yeah, but he's a hot piece of jailbait, am I right?"

Derek's jealousy nearly knocked her over, but she just tossed her head and laughed, feeling a bit of her old spirit returning.

 

\--

As Boyd slid into Stiles' ass, the _click_ of that connection with his Alpha roared to life and he stared up at Derek, who was sitting in his chair, claws digging trenches into his thighs as his muscles leapt and his dick twitched, filling the air with enough pheromones to have them all panting through their mouths as they fought the instinct to _take_.

The others were losing control, claws sliding from Cora's fingers as she arched her back, legs splayed wide with Stiles' face buried between them, the wet sounds matching her shattered breaths. Isaac and Erica bit and snapped at each other, Erica ready to go again after riding Stiles to orgasm once already.

No part of Stiles was going to be a virgin after tonight, Boyd noted, snapping his hips forward just to hear a low groan rumble from Derek.

\--

When Isaac stumbled back, his wet cock sliding from Stiles' reddened mouth, Derek was slumped, legs splayed, eyes slitted nearly closed. "Bring him to me," he rasped.

Stiles was settled gently in his lap, overworked body marked in a thousand different ways. He whimpered when his ass rubbed over the denim covering Derek's thighs.

"Shh," Derek murmured in his ear, smoothing back his sweaty hair. "You're safe now."

 

\-------------------------

7

**Notes:** When Caitlin asked Stiles if he liked boys, he said yes.

They hug all the time, and Stiles has been in Scott's bed before. Not naked though, the naked thing is new, and exhilarating because he's never been naked with another person.

"You're sure?" Scott asks. His hand is hot, a little clammy, pressed against Stiles' back. He's not hard, but that's okay.

Stiles _is_ hard, feels like he's harder than he's ever been. He nods against Scott's shoulder. "I trust you."

He's still processing everything that happened while the nogitsune was in him, and this is one of them. Like he's making up for years of not paying attention, now he can't stop thinking about other guys, about hard bodies and hard dicks, about fucking and being fucked.

It's the latter he needs to explore, knows if it doesn't happen in a controlled way, he'll probably be drunk, and with a stranger.

Stiles still can't believe Scott said yes. Even now, as Scott slides his fingers into the crack of Stiles' ass, there's no hesitation.

Stiles shivers as his dick twitches and leaks precome onto Scott's hip. "I can get myself ready," he murmurs into Scott's throat. "If you don't want to—"

"Let me," Scott says. He's calm and relaxed as he pushes Stiles onto his stomach and drags a hand over his ass, thumb spreading his cheeks a little.

Scott didn't have an epiphany like Stiles has. Scott likes girls, just girls, so Stiles doesn't expect a lot from him, figures he'll get hard when he needs to and not before, will do only what needs to be done.

So when Scott moves over him and down his body, spreads him with his thumbs and licks over his hole, Stiles gasps. "You don't have to—"

"I want to." There's a hint of surprise in Scott's voice. "Is this okay?"

"Hnnngh, yeah." Stiles humps the mattress and presses back as Scott licks into him, makes him slick and wet and pliant before pushing a finger deep inside.

When Scott works up to three, Stiles comes, thrashing and crying out.

"God, _Stiles_ ," Scott says, his voice cracking. He pulls Stiles up onto his hands and knees, hugs him from behind, leaving kisses and gentle bites down his neck and shoulder. "Do you still want this?"

"You're hard," Stiles says. "Do you?"

"Yeah." Scott's hips move as he rocks against Stiles' ass. "I love you, man."

"Love you, too," Stiles says, secure in the knowledge this isn't about hearts and flowers. Scott is his best friend, he trusts him more than anyone and this doesn't feel weird or wrong at all.

There's a minimum of fumbling, then Scott is pushing inside, slick and bare. Stiles grunts through the initial stretch, the burning sting of being breached by something larger than he's taken before. There's an answering groan as Scott slowly sinks all the way inside and stills.

Scott's cock is a hot, heavy ache, deep inside. Stiles looks over his shoulder, meets Scott's eyes. They're connected in the most intimate way possible and they don't need words. Stiles reaches back, puts his hand on the back of Scott's neck and sighs as Scott starts to move.

They breathe each other's breath as Scott moves his hips in rolling thrusts. A flush spreads over Stiles' skin, until it feels as if every inch of him is on fire. He pushes back for more.

Scott grips Stiles' hips hard, and it's perfect. He pulls back, thrusts in deep. "I'm close," he groans. "Really, really close, Stiles."

Stiles reaches for his dick. "Yeah. Come on, Scotty."

Scott grunts as he bends to press his cheek against Stiles' back. He spreads his hand over Stiles' heart and moans as he starts to come.

Stiles can feel it, the pulse deep inside as Scott fills him. Scott pulls out, and come drips down the inside of Stiles' thigh when he pushes back in.

Stiles comes again with Scott slowly softening inside him.

"You're gonna smell like me for days," Scott says when they're tangled in the covers and each other's limbs. "The pack will know. They won't understand."

Stiles turns his head. Scott's lips are half an inch from his own, and he's content to close his eyes and just feel Scott's breath on his face. "I don't care. Do you?"

Scott's mouth comes down on Stiles' cheek, and his lips stretch into a smile. "No. They know you're important to me. That's all that matters."

 

\-------------------------

8

The knife clatters to the floor. He can’t do it.

And then it’s too late – the moonlight streams through the window and she is rising, eyes growing gold and heavy.

He knows he should run, he should pick up the knife, he should – there’s a newly-turned werewolf in his house, his daughter is down the hall and this can only end in so much blood –

Victoria turns and her eyes gleam in the moonlight. He notes her impeccable eyebrows are gone, her ears now pointed and hairy – and her mouth is full of fangs.

“Christopher.” She inhales, and he knows she is scenting him.

She surges forward and he doesn’t get out of the way in time, the fact that this is _Victoria_ keeping him rooted on the spot.

He’s pinned down expertly and he knows he can’t get out of her grip, not with her now enhanced strength. He braces himself for the blow that never comes – instead their eyes meet, blue on amber.

The kiss is full of fangs and tongue and he tastes blood and he tastes _Victoria_ ; tastes the iron control she’s always embodied and which has not lost to the wolf howling inside her. Chris can’t help it, he groans into the kiss and what little give there is has him scrabbling to take hold of her hips as she straddles him. She grinds down on him, feral and gorgeous and Chris is harder than he’s ever been in his life.

Victoria pulls back and licks her lips, her eyes wide and luminous. It should be unsettling, should horrify him to see the wolf in them but he can’t help but stare in wonder as the ridges slowly melt away, leaving behind the golden glow and a hint of fang. She is achingly beautiful, more so than she’s ever been.

“Vicky…” he whispers, his voice full of awe.

“Shut up, Chris.”

When her teeth latch onto his neck, it’s to bruise and mark, not to tear. The noise Chris makes deep in his throat is more animal than her answering moan, and when his hands come up to her hips he knows she would bruise if she - He pushes the thought from his mind and surges up to meet her, his rough human hands rending the blue silk of her top as his mouth seeks out her breasts. She’s even more responsive than usual when his lips latch onto her puffy nipple, a subvocal growl vibrating through them both.

He hisses, head thrown back when she yanks open his pants, sending the buttons flying. Even with the cotton of his boxers between him and the hand palming him, he can feel the inhuman heat in her touch as she gets rid of both of their underwear, the hint of claws instead of her perfect manicure tantalizing.

There’s more than a hint of claws when she sinks down on him, hot and wet with arousal. Chris feels like he can’t breathe, like he’s sixteen again and pushing inside her body for the first time. He can smell the blood beading on his arms through his torn shirt but he doesn’t care, his eyes transfixed on the arch of his wife’s body as she throws her head back and bites back a howl.

She’s a werewolf in the house of hunters and Chris has never loved her more than he does right now, when it’s evident that she’s conquered the beast within, that she’s still _Victoria._

She rides him long and hard, and he nearly blacks out when he comes crying out her name.

Victoria ends up draped over his heaving chest, loosely held in the circle of his arms when she makes a contemplative noise. “I think it’s time Beacon Hills had a _competent_ alpha.”

 

\-------------------------

9  
 **Notes:** Derek lets Scott kill Peter at the end of S1.

(Scott slashes Peter's throat and Stiles heaves. When he turns around and his eyes flash red in the darkness, he looks down at his hands covered in blood and Derek feels sorry for him.)

 

Scott's reticent about accepting his help at first, but he ultimately does and gets better, learns control faster than Derek would have expected, anchors himself and pushes himself, gets results.

Him and Derek aren't much like pack, but he can tell Scott's making an effort, so he does too. It's stilted and slow going, but it's progress.

 

Stiles keeps being a little shit, infuriating and getting on Derek's nerves until he has to tell him to _shut up_ , because he gets his blood running hot and fast and dangerously intense.

One day when they are on Stiles's room, getting in each other's faces, Stiles pushes back, looks down at Derek's lips, breathes out _make me_ , smelling like sweat and horny teenager, and Derek should know better, shouldn't give into this because Stiles has written _trouble_ all over his gangly body, but Stiles' mouth is right there, parted, lush and obscene and Derek can't even recall what they'd been arguing about (Scott's training regime? Expanding the pack?), can only feel himself _needing_ to give Stiles what he's clearly _aching_ for.

“I'm gonna _teach you some manners_ ,” he spits out before pushing Stiles against the wall and going in for a bruising kiss.

Stiles is all eagerness and fingers digging into Derek's scalp as he clumsily pokes at Derek's lips with his tongue, all obvious inexperience that makes Derek feel _filthy_ , like he's robbing Stiles of some sort of innocence.

The feeling only lasts as long as it takes Stiles to grab at his ass to pull him flush against his body so he can grind boyishly against him, hard already.

Derek moans against Stiles' lips, closes his eyes as he feels Stiles' hard, clothed dick drag against his hip, needy, and he pulls away from Stiles' wanting mouth so he can bite at his neck hard enough to make Stiles' hips stutter.

“Come on,” Stiles says then, and he sounds wrecked and horny and needy, and like he will climb all over Derek at any moment, like he's ready to blow his load right there in his pants, “come _on_ , weren't you gonna teach me some manners, big guy?”

Derek groans at the way Stiles' voice has gone raw and dirty, low enough to be almost a deep rumble, he bites hard at Stiles neck again, and Stiles' hands go up his back to _claw_ at him, viciously.

Derek gets his hand into Stiles' pants, doesn't bother with finesse or teasing as he unbuttons and unzips him.

As soon as his fingers are a loose circle around Stiles' dick, Stiles is whimpering, touching him all over, hips jerking. He pulls once, twice, then he goes up to the tip, rubs his fingers on the slit and feels them get wet.

“I'm going to make you come,” he says, right next to Stiles' ear, “fast and hard. And then I'm going to put you on your knees and I'm going to _shut you up_.”

Stiles leaks all over his hand, coats his fingers, and Derek keeps jerking him off, fast and constant.

“Oh, yeah?” Stiles chokes out, “how are you gonna do that, buddy?”

“I'm gonna _put your mouth to better use_ ,” Derek tells him, letting his lips trail the lob of Stiles' ear as he presses himself against Stiles, lets him feel how hard he is inside his pants, “gonna teach you some discipline, gonna hold you still and _fuck your mouth_ until your lips feel loose and raw and you're too tired to talk back.”

Stiles hisses then, comes all over his hand, messy and sudden, faster than Derek would have expected. It makes his dick ache between his legs, makes him ache to come too.

Derek only has enough time to get his hand out of Stiles' pants before he's dropping to his knees like a ragdoll, looking up at Derek through his lashes, eyes like liquid amber, lips red and glistening, and pawing at his belt.

“C'mon,” he says, and he manages to sound _smug_ , “time to put your money where your mouth is.”

Derek looks down at him and his dick _throbs_.

_I'm gonna fucking wreck you_ , he thinks as he helps Stiles unzip him and then puts his hands on Derek's face, guides him forward until he's mouthing at Derek's clothed erection.

 

\-------------------------

10

**Notes:** Chris was the one to seduce Derek, not Kate.

 

“Slow down, Derek,” Chris says, but Derek's not the one who's been moving fast. He's not the one who took this from a friendly nod in the street to 'Have you ever let a man touch you like _this_ , Derek?' inside the space of a week.

Derek's still not sure how it happened, or why, but he's not going to give Chris chance to have second thoughts about it by asking awkward questions.

“Sorry,” he says, his fingers pausing on his buttons, because it seems like he's doing this wrong. “Don't you want me to--”

“I thought you might let me do that this time.” Chris's hands are over his then, pulling them down to his sides. Derek focuses on the slight crinkles at the corner of Chris's eyes that always appear when he smiles, willing his hands to stay still, his body not to respond too quickly to the quick brush of Chris's fingertips against his chest.

He can't help it when Chris pushes the shirt off his shoulders though, has to press himself against that long, lean body. Has to reach up for a kiss that's easily, if laughingly, provided. Reach down to get his hands on Chris's zipper, inside those jeans, get them off, off, _off_ .

“I love how keen you are,” Chris tells him, falling back onto the bed. “I never thought you'd be so--”

So what, he doesn't say, and Derek doesn't really care. He knows what he wants – he had only a taste of it last time, but he wants to do it properly now. Wants his mouth full; full of Chris, full of cock, too full to let him say anything stupid that will ruin this. Wants the weight of it on his tongue, wants to drown in the taste, the scent.

Chris is warm, and just a little salty, and makes a noise almost like he's surprised when Derek takes him all in. Derek can hear his arousal spiral in his pulse, feel it under his tongue, scent it in the air, and works his mouth harder, faster. Chris's hips jerk up under his hands, and he grins as much as he can around Chris's cock, because they are moving exactly as far as Derek will let them, not that Chris is aware of it.

He wonders, when Chris groans and swears, flooding Derek's mouth, if Chris would still let Derek's mouth near him if he knew how sharp his teeth really were.

“Will you fuck me next time?” he asks, when Chris's hand is jerking him off slowly, body relaxed under Derek's weight.

“There's just one small problem with that,” Chris says then, and that's it, Derek's sure. He's had enough, or Derek wasn't good enough, and he braces himself to hear just that.

“My sister and her family will be back home tomorrow,” Chris says instead, and Derek wants to laugh with relief. That's all? “So we won't be able to come here.”

It's a problem, because Derek couldn't deal with a motel or something even if Chris thought of it. Too many smells, too distracting, and downright unpleasant generally.

Which leaves one place. He shouldn't, and it won't be easy, but if it's that or nothing...

“There's always my house,” he says cautiously, because there is still the possibility that Chris just can't be bothered with him any more. He's relieved to see the huge smile on Chris's face.

“That would be _perfect_ ,” Chris tells him, as Derek comes, finally, all over his chest, and Derek doesn't care how difficult it's going to be to get him into his house.

Whatever it takes, he'll find a way.

 

\-------------------------

11  
 **Notes:** Jennifer kills the Sheriff.

The months after his father dies are bad.

Stiles spirals, hard. He’s a gaunt, dead shell where a boy used to be and there’s no one to save him this time.

*

At least, he thought there was no one.

*

Derek barges into his house. His expression is murderous but Stiles doesn’t have enough energy to meet his rage. He sits there as Derek fishes a bag from underneath his bed and stuffs whatever clothes he can find in it.

“You’re coming with me.”

*

Under Derek’s watchful eye, Stiles is bathed, put in fresh clothes, and sat in front of a steaming bowl of soup. Derek crosses his arms.

“Eat.”

An order. Orders mean rules, structure, authority; they mean someone cares.

Stiles eats.

It’s his first proper meal in months and once he starts, he finds he can’t stop. He’s _starving_.

“Slow down,” Derek chides softly. “You’ll get sick if you eat too fast.”

Stiles slows, peeking up to watch Derek watch him. There’s happiness and pride in Derek’s eyes; his belly warms and it has nothing to do with the soup.

He doesn’t finish the bowl but it’s a start.

*

Life gets a new routine.

Derek takes care of him, provides everything that Stiles needs; direction and authority, compassion and comfort. Derek encompasses everything.

It’s probably unhealthy to rely so heavily on another person but it’s the only way Stiles knows how to cope.

It’s too late to go back, anyways.  
He waits for Derek to take the last step, to provide for him in the only way he hasn’t yet. He waits until he realizes that Derek won’t do it. Derek can’t be the one to do it; it has to be Stiles.

So, Stiles does. He goes to Derek one evening, kneeling down between his spread thighs. It feels safe there, protected; Derek always protects him.

“If I asked you to,” Stiles says in the quiet. “Would you tell me to suck your cock?”

Derek reaches forward to caress the side of his cheek; the skin where he touches tingles and Stiles yearns for more.

“You want this?”

Stiles nods. “Please.”

Derek’s hand drops and he sits back, leaving Stiles feeling cold and bereft but not for long. He unbuttons his jeans slowly, watching Stiles’ reaction closely as he slides the zipper down, lifting up to shove them down around his thighs. His cock is half-hard and Stiles’ mouth aches for it.

“You can still say no,” Derek says, taking himself in hand. “You can always say no.”

“ _Please_.”

A hand comes to cup the back of his head, pulling him forward, and he goes eagerly. Just shy of his prize, Derek stops him, running fingers through Stiles’ soft hair.

“Suck me,” he orders, his voice gentle but firm.

Stiles moans, relaxing as his mouth sinks down around Derek’s cock. Little noises of pleasure escape him as he learns Derek’s taste and smell and feel; he’s sloppy, eager and too fast, but he doesn’t care. He’s right where he belongs.

Derek says, “slow down,” an echo of the past.

Stiles does, ever obedient, whining happily around his mouthful when Derek pets him again; a reward.

“Look at you,” Derek whispers. “God, you’re such a good boy for me.”

The words are shock to Stiles’ system. He feels hot all over, embarrassed and proud and fucking needy all at once. He comes over his fingers, sinking as far down Derek’s cock as he can manage, before he realizes what’s happened. Derek groans and bucks, his hand dropping down to cup Stiles’ cheek.

“You like that?” He asks. “You want to be my good boy?”

Stiles whines, come-stained fingers scrambling on Derek’s thighs as he sucks eagerly. Yes, he thinks, please.

“Stiles.” Derek pulls him off by his hair, holding him back as his other hand goes to his cock, pumping hard and fast. “Tell me.”

“I am,” he begs, breathless. His mouth hangs open in hopes that Derek will put his cock back there, that Derek will let him prove how good he is. “Please, Derek.”

Derek’s release is warm on Stiles’ chin and tongue, running over his fingers and cock. He relaxes into his chair, his fingers going slack in Stiles’ hair, and Stiles pitches forward eagerly, sucking Derek’s fingers into his mouth to clean them. Derek pets him again, watching him proudly as Stiles lays his head on Derek’s thigh, fingers still in his mouth.

He promises, “you’re mine; my good boy,” and Stiles shudders, happy.

 

\-------------------------

12

 

Stiles slaps Scott on the shoulder "Dude, that was Derek and Laura Hale. You remember them, right? They're only a few years older than us. Last I heard they were off at college in New York."

"I wonder what they're doing back," Scott says.

Stiles shakes his head as he watches Derek and Laura walk off. Whatever's going on, it can't be good.

* * *

"Scott! Scott, wait up!"

"Stiles, I'm playing the first elimination. Can it wait?"

"Just hold on, okay. I overheard my dad on the phone. They found the other half of the body and they were able to identify the victim."

"Stiles, I gotta go."

"Wait, Scott, you're not going to believe who it was." But Scott's already walking away. "It's Kate Argent. Allison's aunt."

* * *

"Who were they?" Scott asks.

"Hunters. They've been hunting us for centuries," Derek says.

"Us? You mean you. You did this to me."

"No, he didn't," a new voice interrupts. Talia Hale steps out of the woods. "But we know who did."

* * *

"So you're telling me that Derek's – hell, Cora's – uncle Peter went crazy, killed the Argent lady, and bit you," Stiles says.

"Yeah, pretty much."

"That's so weird."

"I know. But I met Cora's mom Talia and she's pretty cool. They're going to teach me how to control it. You should come."

Stiles raises an eyebrow. "Come where?"

"To the Hale house."

Stiles blinks. "Really? That's okay? Me? Hanging out with a bunch of werewolves?"

"Yeah. Derek said to invite you."

"Really? Derek did?"

"Yeah. He said something about googling and needing more information. He said you could help."

"Cool." Stiles wonders how Derek even knew about all the googling but he's not going to complain about getting front seat to werewolf central.

* * *

Stiles is fascinated with everything werewolf. If that fascination includes Derek Hale, the quietest of the Hales, then that's just part of the whole newness of the werewolf situation. Talia is awesome and Cora actually smiles at him during school instead of looking like she wants to gut him because he's some kind of prey. That analogy makes so much more sense now that he knows about werewolves. Laura clings to him like the older sister he never had but out of all the Hales, it's Derek that Stiles is drawn to.

He's not surprised then to find Derek in his bedroom when he gets home from an evening at the Hales.

Stiles grins. "Creeping much?"

"Says the one who can't stop staring at me."

Stiles blushes. "We're talking about that now?" They'd gone months without talking about Stiles's creepy crush on Derek.

"I think we should talk about that now."

"What if we just pretend not to?"

Derek sighs. "Stiles, you're sixteen. I'm twenty-five. Much as I like you, and I do, I can't like you."

Stiles sighs and drops into the chair in front of his desk. "Yeah. I got it." He hesitates and then looks up with a questioning glance. "What about when I'm eighteen?"

A small smile plays out on Derek's face. "When you're eighteen."

* * *

Stiles's eighteenth birthday passes quietly. He tells his dad he doesn't want a party, that he's just going to celebrate quietly. His dad still wakes him up with presents and he gets bombarded with them at school – from Scott and Allison and Cora – and threats from Cora that the Hales have something for him. All of the presents can wait though, because Stiles is a man on a mission.

As soon as he gets out of school he drives over to Derek's loft. Derek answers the door in his sweatpants. Stiles leaps forward, jumping into Derek's arms. Surprise is written all over Derek's face.

"You haven't had a girlfriend in the two years I've known you," Stiles says by way of explanation.

"No, I haven't." Derek's hand is under Stiles's ass, holding him upright while the other closes the front door.

"I'm eighteen now."

"I know."

"I'm going to kiss you now."

"Okay."

Their lips meet and it's electric. Stiles groans. Derek's hands wander. They tumble onto the couch and it's Stiles's first time having someone's hands in his pants and then his first time having someone's mouth on him. Stiles groans, gasps, comes too soon. Derek pulls away grinning and licks his lips.

"Happy Birthday."

 

\-------------------------

13

Scott swallows back his terror as he watches Kira fall, chokes on the flair of searing pain radiating through his middle. Unfamiliar eyes look at him, taunting.

“You okay?” There’s a shift in Stiles’ demeanor, an eerie level of confidence that Scott knows doesn’t belong to his best friend.

“Please don’t. Stop.” Scott’s words fall on deaf ears as Stiles taps out a rhythm on the hilt of the katana.

He’s powerless to stop the nogitsune. Nothing short of slicing through Stiles’ throat will fell the demon, and Scott won’t do that. He can’t.

“It’s okay,” Stiles says.

He wraps his fingers around the hilt gingerly—a gesture Scott has seen before, but never meant in such a hateful way. Never meant to cause pain. Stiles claps a hand, casual, almost friendly, on Scott’s shoulder and Scott scrambles for a way to pull Stiles out of the darkness in his mind. Tug him forward, demand he regain control.

Before he’s able to come up with anything, Stiles is twisting the blade in Scott’s gut, hot and sharp. It’s a pain like nothing Scott’s felt before, blackening his insides, fogging his mind. He squeezes his eyes shut, grits his teeth against it. Scott wonders if this could be it. If this pain, combined with the betrayal and helplessness that are blotting out everything else, could possibly be the thing that kills him, supernatural or not.

“Does it hurt?” Stiles asks. His tone is frighteningly intimate as he leans close. Scott can feel his breath on his face, and he tries to hang onto that. To pull himself out of this anguish with a different memory of this sort of closeness. “No. Look at me.”

It takes what feels like Scott’s last vestige of strength to raise his eyes to meet Stiles’, and when he does, he only sees his best friend standing there before him, eyes warm and caring.

“Stiles, don’t,” Scott tries to say, but the words come out choked and weak, garbled with the blood rising in his throat.

His instincts are telling him to fight, to lash out, no matter the cost. But he can’t. He _can’t._ Stiles is still in there, still fighting the nogitsune from inside his own mind, and if there’s any chance of him surviving this, Scott won’t be the one to end him. Not even if this costs him his own life.

He lets his head fall back, groans in agony. Stiles’ hand feels warm against Scott’s face as he tips his head up. There's another flicker of awareness in Stiles' eyes before darkness eclipses them again. Scott knows he's fighting, trying to regain control.

Stiles twists the blade again, tugging and tearing at Scott's flesh, blood soaking his skin.

He has to find something, _something_ to bring Stiles back to himself. Scott’s breath sticks in his throat as he shudders in a lungful of air, prepares to pull any powers he can manage from deep within.

Scott wraps unsteady fingers around Stiles’ wrist, wills the red to flood his eyes as he calls out Stiles’ name again, forceful, demanding.

There’s recognition in Stiles’ gaze this time, horror, regret. His hand is still pressed against Scott’s face.

Tears well in Stiles' eyes. His lip trembles as he leans forward, rests his forehead against Scott's.

There's stillness all around, and Scott can hear the thundering of Stiles' heart.

Not knowing what else to do, Scott surges forward, ignoring the shift of the blade as he presses his mouth to Stiles', wraps a hand around the back of Stiles' neck, and pierces the skin there with sharp claws.

There's a moment where the pain connects them, pulls them together in a miasma of swirling agony, then Stiles is kissing him back, going lax as Scott pours all of his memories into Stiles' thoughts. Memories of them, together; kissing, touching. He thinks of lips pressed against his inner wrist, the way Stiles moans Scott’s name into his neck as Scott fucks into him, stretches him open, fills him up.

Scott forces these memories to the forefront of Stiles' mind. All of the love and devotion shared between them.

"I need you...to hang on," Scott says against Stiles' lips. "Please. I'll save you. I swear to god, Stiles. Just keep fighting."

With shaky, stilted motions, Stiles’ hand pulls back, dragging the katana with it. His jaw is set in a hard line of determination, eyes shimmering with tears. His hand trembles as the blade clatters to the floor.

 

\-------------------------

14

 

Ethan was pulled out of his sleep by a persistent knocking on the hotel room door. Groaning, he got out of bed and walked over, peeking out. He immediately opened the door and Danny walked inside, pulling Ethan into a kiss as his other hand slammed the door shut.

Ethan pulled back a few minutes later when his brain finally caught up and pushed at Danny’s chest to keep him at bay for a moment. It had been a month since they broke up again and Ethan left Beacon Hills. “What are you doing here?”

“I lied,” Danny said. “I can do it.”

“Danny, I can’t go back there.”

“I’m not asking you too.”

“Danny, I-“

Danny surged forward for another kiss, cutting off whatever Ethan was going to say. “I love you, and I’m not letting you go again.” He wrapped his arms around Ethan, kissing him again. Ethan found himself giving in and kissed back, moaning softly when Danny’s hands slid down the back of his sleep pants.

Ethan let himself be led towards the bed. Danny gently gave Ethan a push onto the bed before taking his shirt off and joining him. They couldn’t get their clothes off fast enough.

Danny lay over top of Ethan, their bodies slotting together perfectly. He leaned in for another kiss, sliding his cock against Ethan’s. Ethan moaned and wrapped his arms around Danny and thrust his hips into Danny’s. “I don’t-I don’t have anything,” Ethan said, groaning as Danny sucked on his neck. He ran his hands down Danny’s back and dug his fingers into Danny’s butt cheeks.

Danny gave him another kiss. “Did you forget who you dated?” he asked with a smile. He pulled away for a moment and leaned over the side of the bed grabbing his wallet out of his pants. He found a condom and lube packet and pulled them out.

Ethan watched in anticipation as Danny rolled the condom on, his heart racing. Danny poured some lube on his fingers and quickly prepped Ethan before he was lying over him and giving Ethan a kiss. Ethan gasped, his back arching as Danny slowly slid inside. His fingers curled into Danny’s sides. “D-Danny..”

“Are you okay?”

Ethan nodded. “Yes. Fuck. I’m perfect.” He pulled Danny in for a kiss, moaning when Danny started to thrust. He wrapped his legs around Danny’s waist, his moans getting louder as Danny fucked him harder. “Danny,” Ethan moaned, rubbing his cock against Danny’s stomach. “Oh fuck, Danny.”

Danny kissed him again, groaning softly and gripping Ethan’s hips tightly as he drove into him faster. “I’ve missed this,” Danny said between kisses. “I’ve missed you.”

“I’ve missed you too,” Ethan whimpered. “Oh God, I’ve missed you. I love you Danny.” He wasn’t going to last very much longer as things turned desperate. He dug his fingers into Danny’s back, his moans louder and louder. “I love you.” He slipped a hand between them and wrapped it around his cock. “Danny..”

Danny gave him another kiss. “I love you too. I’ll always love you.”

Afterwards, they lay curled up in each other’s arms. As much as Ethan wanted it to last, he knew it had to end. “I can’t let you come with me. You have a life in Beacon Hills,” Ethan said. “I-I can’t take that away from you.”

Danny pulled back and Ethan felt his heart break when he saw the hurt in his eyes. “I don’t want us to be over yet.”

“Neither do I,” Ethan said, reaching out and touching Danny’s cheek. “I love you, Danny and I don’t think I’ll ever stop, but we can’t be together right now. I know you know that or you wouldn’t have broken up with me.” He took Danny’s hand and intertwined their fingers. “You need to go back to Beacon Hills. Finish school, go to college,” Ethan had to pause for a moment, his voice starting to crack when he spoke again. “Find someone who can be with you.”

“Why can’t it be you?”

Ethan could feel tears welling up in his own eyes. “I want to be the one, but I can’t. Not right now.”

“But you could later on?”

“Danny, I can’t have you wait for me. I couldn’t do that to you.”

Danny wiped the tears from his eyes and snuggled closer. “Then I guess tonight is our last night together.”

When Ethan woke up the next morning, Danny was already gone.

 

\-------------------------

15

"It's not going to work."

"Stiles," Scott says firmly, "It will."

Stiles hesitates, and Scott can see the fear in his eyes. He knows that Stiles is holding tenuously onto reality - any minute he'll slip away again, disappear into the nogitsune, and Scott won't be able to help him anymore.

And Scott won't let that happen.

"Please," Scott says urgently, his voice low. He's pleading, and he know Stiles can hear it. Out of everyone in the world, only Stiles can hear the nuances in Scott's tone as well as Scott can hear his own.

He can see Stiles' shoulders set, and he swallows thickly.

"Okay."

When Scott gently pushes up the hem of Stiles' shirt, he can feel Stiles shiver. He runs a soothing hand over his side, trying to calm him.

"I've got you," Scott whispers.

"What if it doesn't work," Stiles says frantically, his words all coming out in a rush. "What if it knows what you're doing, what if things get worse -"

Scott looks up, waiting for Stiles to meet his eyes. "It won't," he says, his voice steady. "I won't let that happen."

Stiles exhales, his voice shaking when he nods. "Okay."

Scott's fangs sink into Stiles' flesh, and he has to fight to suppress the moan that echoes through his head. It's stronger than he'd thought, giving the bite. It's as if his whole body's woken up, finely tuned into every one of Stiles' senses. The way his tastes, the way he smells. The way his body leans into him ever so slightly. The way it sounds like maybe, just maybe, Stiles is moaning too.

When Scott pulls back, they're both panting.

"Are you okay?" Scott breathes, running his fingers gently over the wound on Stiles' side. He hopes he didn't go too deep.

He hopes it works.

Stiles nods, beads of sweat prickling along his hairline. "I think so."

"How do you feel?"

A pause. "Like... myself."

When Scott grins up at him, Stiles smiles back.

"Come on," Scott says, standing and wrapping a helping arm around Stiles' shoulders. "Let's go clean you up."

"Scott," Stiles says, and Scott cocks his head towards him. "I don't want to go home tonight."

"Really?" Scott asks, pausing outside his bathroom. "Wouldn't you sleep better in your own bed?"

"Maybe," Stiles says. "But... if something happens to me..."

Scott nods. He understands. "You can stay with me."

"I don't want to be alone." Stiles' voice is a whisper, and before Scott can stop and think, can change his mind, he presses a kiss to Stiles' temple.

"You won't be. I promise."

And Stiles isn't. Scott is with him as he washes his wound, as he changes into a pair of Scott's sweatpants for bed. Scott's with him, spooned up behind him overnight, one hand resting on his hip to make sure. To keep him safe.

And in the morning, when Stiles rolls over and his lips sleepily press against skin, as his hands slide over firm muscle and push away clothing, Scott's there, too.

And as he moans, this time into Stiles' mouth, he knows that there's nowhere he'd rather be.

 

\-------------------------

16

**Notes:** diverges from canon at 2.08 “Raving”

“Victoria, stop!”

She just smiles serenely. “I’ve taken care of this… _thing_ once and for all.” She gestures down at Scott, twitching pitifully in the wolfsbane haze.

“He’s a child,” Chris says. “There are other ways—”

Something barrels into him from behind and sharp pain shoots through his shoulder.

\---

The look in Victoria’s eyes isn’t conflicted at all – it’s nothing but grief. Like Chris is already gone. “The moon will be rising soon.”

Chris looks down at the gun in his hands. The bullets are full of wolfsbane, and the scent of it is already starting to burn. “Say goodbye to Allison for me?”

“Of course,” she says, pulling him close. “I’ll take care of her. Always.”

The thought of Allison left alone with Victoria and Gerard makes a chill run down Chris’s spine, but he hides it, kisses his wife for the last time.

The light in the bathroom is harsh, but it’ll be easier to clean this room than the bedroom. Chris is starting to tremble, and before he knows it, he’s pushed the window open to feel the moonlight on his skin. In the mirror, his eyes are already starting to glow amber; he has to do it now.

The mirror shatters from the shot, but Chris is out the window before the gun even hits the ground.

\---

He’s not even sure what part of town he’s in or how long he’s been running; all he knows is he’s chasing the siren song of _alpha, alpha, alpha_ that’s in his heartbeat now. When he races into the train depot, he’s aware of other wolves – betas, reeking of hormones and rage.

Chris roars.

The second Derek comes out of the train car, Chris lunges. His alpha is tired but still strong enough to flip one fledgling beta on his back and pin him by the neck. Derek’s eyes flash red and it’s not enough to make Chris stop fighting, but he finds himself instinctively tilting his head back, as though he needs to bare more of his throat.

“You’re not a teenager,” Derek growls through fangs. “You can control this.”

Allison’s face flashes through Chris’s mind. He knows about anchors, knows how they tether werewolves to their humanity, and he feels the madness draw back. Back, but not away.

“ _You_ ,” Chris rasps, tearing at what’s left of Derek’s shirt. “You did this to me.”

“I could have killed you,” Derek hisses. “I could have killed your wife for trying to murder a teenage boy. Instead I made you stronger.”

“Made me one of you!”

Derek grins, a chilling sight on his shifted face, but something inside Chris stirs when Derek dips his head to whisper right in Chris’s ear. “It’s a gift, Chris. Accept it.”

Chris can’t even summon the words to deny it; the pull is too deep. It’s part of him now.

That doesn’t mean he can’t keep fighting.

He surges up and nearly takes Derek off guard, but Derek is too powerful. All it earns Chris is Derek’s entire body pressed atop his, all that taut strength pinning Chris to the floor, and something about it feels right on a purely animal level.

If he had the power to rationalize it, Chris would blame the moon or the secondhand hormones for the raging lust. But the searing hot pressure of another body – Derek’s body, cruelly beautiful thing that it is – makes his legs part, letting Derek’s thigh fall between them. He could no sooner stop himself from grinding up than he could stop breathing.

Derek’s grin grows sharper, and he rocks down, letting Chris feel the answering hardness through his jeans. “That’s it,” he murmurs. “Let your alpha take care of you.”

It should be utterly humiliating, this reversal of everything he’s spent his life fighting for, but instead it just feels good. It’s right that he should surrender himself to this urge, to just take something that his alpha – that _Derek_ – is offering. He hasn’t felt this overstimulated in decades, and within minutes he’s aching with the need to come. He throws his head back again in frustration, but at the feeling of Derek’s fangs pressed lightly against his throat, Chris’s vision goes gray around the edges. His orgasm feels like it’s being torn out of him, raw and hollowing and just shy of painful.

But Derek is still there when he comes back down, still hard against Chris’s hip. He’s taken nothing for himself.

“Welcome to the pack, Chris.”

 

\-------------------------

17

Notes: Assumes Derek never goes back to BH after Laura's death.

"Derek. Something's not right here. Look, whatever happens, do not come back to Beacon Hills. I... I'll see you soon baby bro. Love you."

~~~

The club is loud and crowded, one out of any number of identical such places in New York. Lights pulse in manic flashes of blue and white, and it makes the world feel artificial, dreamlike. Only the cold glass of the beer bottle in his hands feels anything close to real.

Derek isn’t sure what keeps drawing his attention to the kid dancing unselfconsciously out in the middle of the room. He’s not Derek’s type, not by a long shot; he’s too lanky. Too fucking _young_ It’s just that…there’s something about him. It makes Derek’s skin itch, and the wolf inside of him stretch and coil under his skin in a way that he hasn't felt for years. Not since Laura died, and he failed her, failed his family and his pack, by not going back to avenge her.

The lights do weird things to the kid. Derek thinks his dancing should seem awkward, too open and frenzied, but the lights soften him, creating odd shadows and angles that make his movements appear sinuous instead. It’s like a fucking impressionist painter has taken a brush to him, and turned him into something both more and less than what he is.

It’s almost against his will that Derek finds himself setting his drink down and heading out onto the dance floor. He lets the music get into his bones, lets it carry him forward until he’s close enough that he can catch honey brown eyes.

The kid’s been turning people away all night, but he doesn't turn Derek away.

Instead his lips quirk into an impish grin and he nods, twirling around and pressing his back to Derek’s front, swaying with him like they’re one creature. He tilts his neck back, baring his throat even as he presses his mouth into the crook between Derek’s jaw and neck. For all the submission that the gesture implies, it demands just as much from Derek in return.

“Stiles,” the kid whispers, barely audible over the thrum of the music. “My name is Stiles.”

~~~

“Fucking fuck me already,” Derek hisses, trying to press his ass back into the fingers that the kid, Stiles, is teasing him with. His arms are braced against the tiled back wall of the stall, and he's got one foot hiked up on the toilet seat to make it easier to open him up. This should be gross, the bathroom reeks of sex and piss, and this isn’t like him, but he feels _out of control_. He needs this kid to fuck him, and he doesn’t know why. At the moment he doesn’t care.

“Pushy much?” Stiles laughs, sliding his fingers out of Derek’s ass. He slots up behind him and presses a kiss, and then his cheek, to the tattoo between Derek’s shoulder blades. “It’s ok baby, I’ve got what you need. Came to find you just for this. To make you mine."

And then Stiles is fucking him. He fucks like Derek thinks he must live. Like he’s got to get the most out of it that he possibly can, selfish and needy. Like what he’s doing in that moment is the only thing that matters. Like _Derek_ is the only thing that matters.

Derek arches into it, hears himself grunting with each slide of Stiles’ cock into him. He doesn’t have the balance to touch himself, so he begs, voice hoarse and broken, for Stiles to touch him instead.

Stiles doesn’t. He presses his mouth to Derek’s shoulder, teeth a warning pressure that sparks a shudder down his spine. And then it’s not a warning anymore. The bite is hard and it draws blood, the scent of it sharp in the air. It breaks Derek, and he comes like he's been struck by lightning.

~~~

Derek’s legs are shaky when he finally straightens, Stiles still a scorching presence behind him. It’s an effort for him to get his jeans up.

Something has changed inside of him. He turns around and meets Stiles’ eyes, and he’s not surprised when they flash blood red. It explains the rush of familiarity, the indefinable _something_ that he realizes now is the thrum of pack and family and potential.

“Alpha,” he acknowledges. The come leaking out of him, making his thighs wet, feels like a claim.

Stiles smiles his impish grin from earlier. “Mine,” he agrees.

 

\-------------------------

18

**Notes:** Takes place during Master Plan, after the ending warehouse scene. Stiles visits Derek to find his misery's company.

 

“What do you want?”

Stiles grimaces, shuffling from side to side with his hands in his pockets. He clears his throat. “Company?”

Derek has his back to him, muscles clenching as he continues doing pull-ups. “Strange place to look for that.”

The train car has a lingering scent of an odor eliminator. Covering up the stench of prior homeless tenants, Stiles presumes.

“Oh, you know,” Stiles stammers out, “Just passing through the neighborhood and saw the lights on. Wanted to see how you were doing?”

The excuse sounds weak, even to his own ears. He’s not surprised when Derek drops from the grab rail and turns his head to the side.

“Why don’t you go and ask Scott,” Derek says, and drops to lounge in a double car seat. He leans his head back and closes his eyes.

“Not really speaking to him. Need some time alone, at least until he gets his head out of his ass or we have a chance to brohug it out.”

Derek doesn’t move.

He looks at peace, arms splayed out, as if he was a space, waiting for something to fill it.

Stiles tenses, a crawling feeling of envy juddering up his spine, the memory of Lydia and Jackson crowding his mind. The way they held each other, tightly, with no room for others. He walks to Derek and plops down at his side. It feels good to close his eyes, lean back, let his neck press against Derek’s arm behind him, a bit sweaty and a lot warm.

When Stiles turns to look at him, Derek is already looking back.

His expression is unreadable, except Stiles thinks he looks sad.

In one swift motion, Stiles kisses him.

There is no finesse, no strategy; Derek seems to be rendered immobile for a second, surprising Stiles when he pushes a kiss back, hand cupping Stiles’ jaw.

“Is this what you came here for?” Derek mutters against Stiles’ cheek.

“No.” Stiles is already panting, already feeling his jeans tighten unbearably, and embarrassingly. “I just--I don’t know. I just did it. Was it--”

Derek’s thumb circles below Stiles’ ear, the hesitation so palpable, Stiles tries to pull away. But Derek holds him in place. “It was.”

His hands roam to Stiles’ waist, and Stiles reciprocates, dropping his head down and gasping along Derek’s shoulder.

When they come, it feels like liberation, and recompense.

-

“So you really think she’s gonna come back to you?”

“Yeah, I know she is. What about you and Lydia?”

“Well, my 10 year plan for making Lydia fall in love with me may have to be subverted to a 5 year plan of moving on, considering her and Jackson apparently have a supernatural, lizard-curse breaking love. But you know, I have a plan.”

“Nothing helps moving on like outright rejection. Why don’t you just ask her out?” Scott smiles.

Stiles laughs. “Yeah, okay, why don’t just get in the goal and help me make team captain like you promised, big guy.”

 

\-------------------------

19

**Notes:** Stiles doesn't wake up right away when the others wake up in their tubs full of ice.

Stiles doesn’t wake up. They pull him out of the tub, wrap him in blankets, and watch. The Nemeton or something greater has him in their hold. Scott looks to Deaton who shakes his head. Derek paces while Scott, Allison, Isaac, and Lydia hold vigil.

***

Stiles wakes up. The sun is shining through his curtains. Scratching his head, he rubs his face in his pillow to try and wake up. The smell of bacon lures him downstairs.

“Ma, that smells amazing,” he says.

Claudia Stilinski smiles back at him.

***

_That’s when he should’ve known something was wrong but he doesn’t. Because as far as dreams go this one of his mother is pretty fucking tame. He dreams about her a lot. Wishes for her. And right before he drops off to sleep sometimes, he whispers the word ‘Mom’ just so he can hear it roll off of his tongue. It’s foreign. But it feels good._

***

He’s got the jeep waxed and it shines brightly in the sun when he jumps in and almost burns his ass on the hot leather.

“Fuck!” he shouts, leaning on one cheek and then the other until his body acclimates to the heat. Then, he’s a screech of rubber on the pavement as he tears up towards the lake house.

***

_His Jeep has never been waxed. Ever._

***

They pull up in front of the house and it’s duffel bags, sandals, beach balls, and floaties everywhere. The smell from the grill is delicious. Tom Hale is standing there, manning the fort while Talia floats around in some sort of sarong type thing. They wave everyone in and Stiles stops to tweak the nose of Nora Hale.

“Derek’s down at the lake, Stiles,” Talia says with a quick wink. “Go find him. He’s moping.”

“Will do, Mrs. H.”

Stiles, Scott and Isaac are a tangle of limbs, elbows, and everything smells like spf one-thousand, but he’s on his way to get a sunburn and see his boyfriend. He runs.

***

_He didn’t fall down once. Not once. There’s a clue. Plus the fact that Derek fucking Hale is your goddamn boyfriend. That’s a big fucking clue._

***

Stiles stands on the beach scanning the bodies in the water to find him. Him, him, him. His heart stutters and his belly flops when one body starts towards him.

“Fu-uu-uhck.”

Derek walks up out of the water effortlessly. And Stiles runs down to meet him. Into waiting arms.

***

_Dumb. Ass. Stillinski. You’re so stupid. How could you have fallen for it?_

***

They sneak off after supper when everyone is full and telling stories.

They go down to the boathouse. Derek pulls out a sleeping bag he’s stowed away in the rafters and Stiles tries not to think too much about mouse shit or anything that might be falling from it while Derek shakes it out and lies it down. Stiles crawls over, flops on it, and strikes a pose.

“Tell me you don’t want a piece of this.”

“You know I do.”

Slowly they peel away the layers that they’ve been missing. The clothing that they were every day to hide who they are and what they might see because they only want to show this stuff - these long bits of skin, the gasps, the sighs, the bruises, the scars - to each other. Stiles kisses his way down Derek’s long torso, nipping at his hip bone, nuzzling at the hair just above his cock. The moan that Derek lets out when Stiles latches on is something Stiles will file away to keep and when he’s old and grey, he’ll take it out and remember back when he could elicit that kind of noise from someone else. Someone he loves. Someone who loves him. Sweat pools at the base of his neck, but he doesn’t stop. Until Derek pulls up on his arms. Fisting them together, Derek’s all rush and ‘yes’ and ‘god, now’.

They lie there fighting for breath in the afterglow.

And life is perfect.

***

_Stiles wakes up. And knows the whole thing was a fucking lie._

***

And when the Nogitsune comes for him, Stiles almost feels like ‘The Chosen One’. Or at the very least a human horcrux. But he welcomes the blackness with open arms because he hopes against hope for the glimpse again of ‘what if’.

 

 

\-------------------------

20

**Notes:** What if Derek were killed instead of Laura?

The dead body’s name is Derek Hale.

It’s easy for Stiles to think of it as a _body_ because there’s only half of it there in a shallow hole in the ground, like someone forgot to finish burying it.

It’s just a _thing_ : flesh over bone, food for the wolves that Stiles can hear howling ( _there are no wolves in California_ ).

He doesn’t know that it’s the beginning of _everything_.

#

She climbs in his window and he doesn’t know what to do.

She shoves him against a locker; he fights back, arguing with a fucking _werewolf_ whose eyes flash red as she bares sharp teeth.

She’s drowning in a pool and he leaps in after her.

He saves her life.

She seems to trust him and he trusts her. He doesn’t know what to do with that, either.

It’s funny how things work. Scott has Allison. Lydia has Jackson. And Stiles… Stiles seems to have _something_ with Laura Hale.

#

She goes quiet in the summer. The sharpness of her alpha’s smile fades to a dark growl in the wake of Erica and Boyd’s lengthening absence. Stiles knows he isn’t actually _wanted_ , but she doesn’t push him away when he shows up unannounced at the remains of Hale house.

“You can’t do this alone,” he tells her.

“I’ve got Isaac,” she retorts. Stiles rolls his eyes.

“You need me.” It isn’t a question or offer; it’s simple fact.

She argues that he’s only sixteen and deserves a better life ( _so are Isaac, Erica, and Boyd_ ). She argues that it’s _wolf_ business, not human ( _his best friend is a werewolf and he’s already saved her life more than once… shut up already_ ). She argues constantly, but weeks pass and Stiles is there by her side more often than not, churning through data, trying to figure out what’s happening.

He won’t lie: the idea of the alpha pack scares him.

The possibility of losing Erica and Boyd ( _and Laura_ ) terrifies him more.

#

He thinks about her all the time.

He worries, too. He tries to save her again, because he can see her slipping into the darkness of her own mind.

“I think you should talk to the Argents.”

Laura snorts. “So you’ve said. You know how I feel about that.”

Stiles flicks a glance at Isaac. “I think you’re wrong. The alpha pack’s a common enemy. Chris Argent already knows we’re the good guys, and he needs to know. They’re back from France on Tuesday—”

“No,” Isaac growls. He stalks off before Laura can correct him.

“You know I’m right,” Stiles says quietly.

“You think that because I let you…” Her voice trails off, lips pressed thinly together. “I’m the alpha.”

“I’m aware.”

For all her growling, he’s not afraid of her. He’s never been afraid.

#

When it’s just them he can push his limits, testing her patience until she shoves him up against the wall.

He can duck in under her defenses, brush his lips against hers, feel her sag against him.

Stiles turns the tables, stripping them both quickly and efficiently so that he can lift her, slide inside her, fucking her against the wall until they are sweaty and desperate for release. She comes, howling. He loves the sound of it, growling like a wolf himself when he pours into her, blunt teeth fastened to her shoulder.

( _He’s getting muscles. When Scott asks, Stiles shrugs, says he’s doing a little lifting… Scott wouldn’t understand._ )

In the aftermath, Laura is soft, the darkness held at bay. They lie together and talk about movies, comics, things normal teens might discuss. She confides that she turned twenty at the start of summer and barely noted the birthday; it feels odd when she realizes she left her teenage years and Derek didn’t make it.

He learns her history in stolen moments when they curl together, when she is soft enough, open enough to let him in.

Stiles falls in love with Laura Hale, and it kills him a little on the inside because there is no one he can tell.

#

He wonders, sometimes, what might have happened if Laura had died instead. He feels guilty to be thankful for Derek’s death, thankful that the _body_ was one sibling and not the other. Then he sees her again, _fucks_ her again, curls with her in the dark and _loves_ her all over again… the guilt fades.

Derek Hale is nothing more than dust, and Stiles loves Laura. It couldn’t possibly be any other way.

 

\-------------------------

21

**Notes:** For a hot second Kate and Chris suspect Stiles is the one that was bitten by Peter in season 1. They actually follow up on it and kidnap him.

.

Stiles had read once why birds could sit all day on power lines. He'd be okay on his torture rack, as long as they didn't touch him. The current was low enough so it wouldn't kill him, not even in his weakened “human” state. He almost laughed because they'd never even bothered to check.

Kate didn't really care if he was human or not, just that he'd scream. She asked him about Derek and the alpha, but mostly she talked, about his whiskey eyes, his cute little nose and the obscene plump of his lips.

She trailed her fingers over his face when the current was low and she had to feel it even more than him, the electricity coursing through them and into the ground, leaving him exhausted. It wasn't enough to harm, but it was enough to make him feel it.

Kate smiled as she turned up the dial and Stiles slipped into unconsciousness.

.

There was a lot of blood. Something... a body, a person... Something was on the floor by the torture equipment. Stiles didn't have the strength to look and not throw up, so he just closed his eyes and let strong hands cut him down.

.

He dreamed about going to the dance with Lydia, making her laugh at someone else's expense. Allison and Scott were there, playing hide and seek with Coach Finstock.

.

When he woke again, everything was on fire. His hair hurt, his skin was burning and all his muscles felt like he'd run a marathon. He figured that he was in his room, the shadows all familiar.

“Huh,” he said. “I'm alive.”

“Barely.” That was not Scott. Or his dad.

“Derek?”

He got an answering grunt from the shadows by his desk. Then two blue pinpricks of light. “Go back to sleep.”

Stiles grimaced. “I have to pee.”

“I'm not helping you with that.” Stiles could hear the amusement in his tone. And hell, if Derek was here, there could only be one reason. He'd been watching over him.

“Hey, so, is this going to be a Twilight thing?”

Derek glared. “Shut up.”

.

Falling asleep was nearly impossible with Derek right there in the shadows, so Stiles did what he did best. “You and Scott came to rescue me.” Derek didn't answer. “You killed her. It was her, wasn't it? The one who burned down your house?”

“Yes.”

.

“I missed the dance.”

Derek had migrated to the bed when the Sheriff came home so Stiles' babbling wouldn't give them away. Stiles couldn't say that it bothered him. Derek was strangely soft, hot in all the right ways.

“I missed my chance with Lydia.”

Derek shifted. Warm fingers traced his jaw. “She'll give you another one if she's half as smart as you think she is.”

“That's not how it works.”

.

It was nearly dawn when Stiles turned on his side and looked at the hazel eyes watching him. Derek wasn't a friend, he was a werewolf who'd lost everything and still took the time to save Stiles' life.

“I'm not missing another chance,” Stiles said. He kissed Derek on the lips, barely there, but enough to make his intentions clear.

Derek was out the window before he could open his eyes again.

.

Peter turned out to be the alpha and wasn't that a kick in the nuts.

.

As an alpha, Derek was different. A little crazy, a little stupid, and a little less interested in denying himself something he wanted.

He kissed like he was drowning.

.

Derek still saved Stiles, made it a habit. And in between they'd kiss sometimes – never more. Never enough to make it solid.

.

“I think we should have sex,” Stiles said as he leaned back against the wreck of a train car.

.

 

“I brought something.” Derek pulled out two bottles. One was lube. The other one a sample of kanima poison.

.

When Stiles was inside him, Derek whined, gasped, spilled words like love and forever. One day, Stiles would be able to convince him that he could trust himself as much as he trusted Stiles. He stroked his hair and whispered encouragement with every thrust.

“I've got you, Derek.”

 

\-------------------------

22

 

Stiles has been dating Lydia for a year when Scott is bitten by the Alpha.

He abandons her at the cinema when Scott texts him about losing control during lacrosse practice, and Stiles throws himself into his Jeep.

He barely looks back.

*

“I’m not cutting off your fucking _arm_ , Derek!” Stiles yells, gesturing at the black veins pulsing along Derek’s bicep.

“I’m going to _die_ if you don’t,” Derek says through gritted teeth. “ _Do it._ ”

For the first time, Stiles realises that he doesn’t want Derek to die. He’s mean, he’s dangerous, and he’s entirely untrustworthy, but Stiles still _likes_ him, with his glare and stubble and leather jackets.

“Okay,” Stiles nods, feeling wrecked. “ _Okay_.”

*

“I love you,” Stiles grins, tucking a strand of red behind her ear; it’s one of his favourite things to do.

“I know,” Lydia says haughtily, and doesn’t even spare Jackson Whittemore a glance as he walks by, glaring bullets into Stiles’ skull.

*

It’s been almost an hour of waiting with nervous anticipation in the Jeep outside the hospital when Derek asks:

“How long have you been together?”

Stiles thumbs away his text conversation with Lydia, ignoring the constant vibrating notifications.

“About a year,” Stiles says. “I’ve been in love with her since third grade, though.”

Derek snorts. “You think you know what love is at your age.”

“I’ll love Lydia until the day I die,” Stiles says firmly, because he believes it.

Derek turns away to stare out of the window.

“Don’t be so sure.”

*

“Where have you been?” Lydia demands when she wrenches the door open. “You’re _three hours late._ ”

Stiles’ hair is still wet, even though he’s in dry clothes. He wants to tell Lydia that he saved his and Derek’s lives, holding them both up in a pool for what felt like eternity. He wants to tell Lydia that he didn’t think he’d ever see her again, and that broke his heart.

He wants to tell Lydia that he was terrified he wouldn’t get to say goodbye to his dad.

Instead, Stiles says, “I’m sorry, Lyds, I’m _so_ sorry,” and presses long kisses to her lips, the feeling of Derek’s wet stubble still lingering against his cheeks.

*

“First Paige, then Kate, now Jennifer,” Stiles says jokingly, but his eyes are dark with seriousness. “You sure know how to pick ‘em.”

“Don’t,” Derek warns, and makes to shove Stiles away.

“ _No_ ,” Stiles says, standing his ground in the loft doorway.

“Go back to your ‘perfect’ girlfriend, Stiles,” Derek bites, and shoulders past. “I don’t need your help. Not now, not ever.”

*

“Something’s wrong,” Lydia says. It’s matter-of-fact, like she’s giving her Chemistry presentation instead of sitting, naked, on top of Stiles.

He shakes his head, protests weakly, “No, I’m just tired.”

“No,” Lydia says, climbing off; her departure leaves Stiles in ugly goose bumps. She pulls her dressing gown on, turning to look back at him. “You’re not in love with me anymore, Stiles.”

“No!” he shouts, sitting up fast. “I’ll _always_ love you, Lydia. I’ve been in love with you since third grade!”

Lydia curls a strawberry-blonde ribbon of hair behind her ear. “Not anymore you’re not.”

*

“Derek,” Stiles sobs, nails digging so hard they’re cutting blood from Derek’s arms, “I can still hear him in my head, please make him stop, Derek, _please_ , oh god, please—”

“He’s gone, Stiles,” Derek says, over and over, “I won’t let you go, he’s gone, it’s _okay_.”

“I need Lydia,” Stiles weeps wretchedly, “I need her, I _love_ her.”

Derek doesn’t say anything at all, but he never lets go.

*

“Why?” Lydia twirls the straw of her milkshake, her lips as red as the maraschino cherry on top. “Because you love me, but… I don’t make you angry. I don’t make you cry. All I am is a sounding board for your slightly inferior brain.” She smiles, and it’s sad, but it’s honest. “I don’t make you _feel_ , Stiles.”

*

Derek fucks like he looks: smouldering, rough, _intense_. Stiles folds himself in half, Derek’s palm pressing his thighs down as he fucks in, hard and deep and earth-shatteringly _good_ , and Stiles wonders how he could ever live without this—

“I love you,” he whines; it falls out of his mouth, a blunder, and it turns Derek’s eyes blue.

“I love you,” Derek echoes, like it costs him his life to say, but his hands are suddenly gentle on Stiles’ skin. “ _I love you._ ”

 

\-------------------------

23

 

Bobby flopped back onto his second-hand and slightly-ripped linen couch, groaning and stretching his arms out on either sides, exhausted. "15 lap practice, 15 lap practice and what the hell does that have to do with Coach's 'obligation to lead', geezes crusty apples....!" Bobby swore at the stain on his living room ceiling (the one that had been there since last year, when the old couple upstairs that just won't quit their bedroom activities let their bathtub overrun and leaked a perfect circle on top of where Bobby usually sat. Bobby had developed a certain familiarity toward this ceiling stain - it was as stupid as his 8th graders.)

After 15 laps around the track, he then had to get the kids through afternoon Economics Finals without choking any of them to death (Ralph in the fourth row was always trying to cheat. That kid had problems.) He was so exhausted that he could puke red on these Economics exams and call them graded. (Seriously, Greenberg, Marginal Productivity cannot increase at q=-2. How the hell did anything increase at q=-2, even.) Bobby sat there, trying to come up with motivation to grade the next exam paper, but even glancing at it from the corner of his eyes the paper looked unbelievably overloaded with words. He taught Economics. Why were there that many /words/. Bobby sat up finally driven by his momentary curiosity, and read aloud.

“---as a rite of passage marking a boy's entrance into adulthood, as a form of sympathetic magic to ensure virility or fertility, as a means of enhancing sexual pleasure, as an aid to hygiene where regular bathing was impractical----What the granddad’s frozen hell is this thing?” Bobby dropped the paper, before summoning up enough courage to squint down at the question to which this answer was for. “…Cutting off the foreskin of your penis is really not an answer to Monetary Inflation. What the peacock is this kid on?” (It should be noted, nobody else was in the room. Bobby just conversed with himself on a regular basis to upkeep a certain level of sanity.)

But---Bobby was so incredibly exhausted right now, and these Economics papers sucked balls. He held up that oddly enthusiastic paper and squinted at it again. It was now outlining penis sizes, making reference to genetic theories about sizes of foreskins and its correlation with sexual pleasure in great detail. Bobby felt an unreasonable stir in his low-hung trunks.

This was an exhaustion boner. It had to be, because there was no comprehensible reason for Bobby to be feeling a little hot and bothered right at this moment. His head was spinning, his muscles were sore, his student’s exam was weird, and his cock was filling up as surely as the fat in his arteries (he had to watch out for his cholesterol this year, seriously messed-up stuff).

“Okay! Okay fine! Not like I’m not a mostly healthy man. Exhaustion boners are allowed, you hear me?!” Bobby said to his ceiling stain challengingly, as he tossed the red pen onto the coffee table and reached into his trunks. His thoughts flashed back to the answers earlier – ‘the foreskin contains nerves, and if you roll it back and forth, it stimulates the frenulum’ (What the hell was a frenulum? Bobby wasn't cut and even he didn't know what the fuck that was.) (The answer proved true, though, the fourth time he rolled his foreskin back, his whole dick was throbbing in wake.)

“---Who wrote this shit anyway----ahh…are you kidding me? I’m jerking off to Bilinski’s economics paper. This is such messed-up crap.” He said this, but his mind unhelpfully offered a flashback to the Bilinski kid’s large mouth.

\----yeah, okay, when you’re jerking it, almost anything would do. That large and pink mouth would definitely….

But wait, Bobby Finstock was not a pedo-Coach! Bobby quickly attempted to whack away the frankly irritating thoughts about his Lacrosse bench warmer (he swore he was going to stay at least ten feet away from the Bilinski kid the next time he saw him), but before he could win victoriously over his over-exhausted mind, there was wetness in his palm and stars in his vision. Fucking Bilinski. Now he had to go wash his trunks and everything.

 

\-------------------------

24

 

Derek stands in the doorway to the kitchen and just... _watches_. Stiles is at the counter, naked but for his red hoodie, and the light of the rising sun shines through the window, casting him in an ethereal glow.

"I know you're there," Stiles says without turning. "You can't sneak up on me anymore."

"Wasn't trying to," Derek replies, walking into the kitchen and wrapping his arms around Stiles. He rests his chin on Stiles' shoulder and places his hands on Stiles' torso, fingers splayed so he can touch as much skin as possible.

Stiles rolls his hips, pressing his ass back against Derek's cock. It would be nothing to slip inside him right here, to bend him over the counter and fuck him until he can't move.

"Do it," Stiles moans, displaying the uncanny aptitude for reading each other they've both been experiencing recently. He leans his head back onto Derek's shoulder and reaches a hand behind him to grip Derek's cock, quickly working it to a hardness that's never far away these days.

Derek slides in easily; Stiles is open and wet with Derek's come from not even thirty minutes earlier. He presses in deep, as close as possible, and Stiles' head falls forward as he braces himself against the counter.

He wonders if it'll always be like this. This near-constant _need_ simmering just under the surface, only held back with conscious effort on both their parts.

Between breaths, between thrusts, Stiles whimpers out words of encouragement.

"Yes, Der— fuck me, fill me," he sighs. "Wish you could always be in me. Want to always be touching you."

Derek can't keep his mouth off of Stiles' neck, licking and sucking and biting at it, worrying the skin until it's heated and red. Rolling his hips, he fucks Stiles slowly, focused on keeping them as close together as possible, and pressing in as deep as he can with every move.

"More," Stiles begs. "C'mon, Derek."

His heart is racing, he's burning up with this neverending _urgency_ that consumes him to be near, around, _in_ Stiles all the time. His hand flies to Stiles neck, pulling Stiles' back flush against his chest. Stiles' head flops back, presenting his throat to Derek without hesitation. Stiles' heartbeat—his blood—pulse against Derek's fingers wrapped around his throat.

As much as he wants to keep up this slow, languid pace for _days_ , Derek's balls begin to tighten, and his gut burns with the need to come, to fill Stiles up with more than just his dick.

He picks up his pace and lets his fingers twine with Stiles' where they're jacking his cock with increasing speed.

The kitchen is filled with the sounds of fucking—Derek's pelvis slapping Stiles' ass, the obscene squelch of lube and come as Derek pounds his dick into Stiles, Stiles' harsh breaths as he begs for Derek to fuck him harder and harder.

"Come for me, Stiles," he moans into Stiles' neck as he twists his hand around the head of his cock. "Come on."

Moments later Stiles stills, fingers in a white-knuckled grip on the counter, ass clenching hard around Derek's dick. He practically wails Derek's name as he comes, and Derek can feel the vibrations in his hand, where it's still wrapped around Stiles' neck, and on his lips where they're still—he wishes _always_ —pressed to Stiles' pulse point.

And Derek comes and comes and _comes_ , the sight and scent and sound of Stiles overwhelming him.

They stand there, locked together, panting, for long, quiet minutes, before Stiles takes Derek's hand.

"Can you feel that?" Stiles asks, pressing Derek's palm to his lower abdomen. "Can you feel it, Derek?"

He inhales deeply and centers himself, focuses on the call of Stiles' magic that thrums in his own veins, and has since Stiles got a new body.

It's faint at first, overshadowed by Stiles' magic, but soon he realizes the quiet vibrations he's feeling aren't actually coming from Stiles. They're coming from—

"Fuck, Stiles."

"You feel that?" he asks. "That's _our_ spark."

 

\-------------------------

25

 

Derek grabs the guy by the scruff of his neck, doesn't give him time to get his pants up. Growls, "Get lost," and he's running, holding his trousers as he goes.

Stiles is pulling up his own jeans, pale ass disappearing behind denim, belt buckle roughly done up while glaring at Derek. "Why the fuck did you do that?"

"Because you're worth more."

Stiles's glare intensifies. "Fuck you. I can do what I want."

He walks out of the alley, but not back into the club. Derek drives behind him, keeps his distance, makes sure he doesn't crash. Someone's got to.

*

Derek can recognise guilt, can recognise loss, and he sees it all in Stiles. It figures that he'd take the same route Derek did.

He catches the scent of Stiles, the smell of desperation and despair in the grocery store. He follows it down until he finds him, standing in front of the condoms.

"Oh, you." Stiles turns back to the shelves.

That's it. That's his greeting. It's more than he was expecting.

"Don't you kids get condoms for free?" Derek remembers being Stiles's age, remembers going red as people kept shoving handfuls of free condoms at him.

Stiles shrugs. "Not if you don't want your dad to find out."

"There's normally plenty of free ones in clubs."

Stiles shrugs again, still not looking at Derek, there's a slump to his shoulders that's just... it's wrong.

"I'm not always in clubs."

And that sends up a million red signals. If Stiles is still having thoughts about being safe then he's doing better than Derek.

"Go wait in the car."

Stiles balks. "I told you the other week, I can do--"

Derek grabs a couple of packs of condoms.

"What are you doing?" There are dark smudges under his eyes, and his hair is dirty and unkept. There's a hint of someone else's come there, poorly washed off behind his ear. More than one person. More than just his ear.

"Car." Derek gives him a shove and he's going, throwing suspicious glances over his shoulder.

*

If it hadn't been Stiles the nogitsune was possessing, Derek thinks it would have hit hard, but maybe they'd be able to get through this. They're not that lucky, no one in Beacon Hills is.

Stiles is leaning against his SUV, waiting, when he gets out of the store. Derek shoves the bag at him, tells him to, "Get in."

"Great, so that's the catch, I've got to put up with another fucking lecture from--"

Stiles's mouth tastes like ass, unfortunately not figuratively. Derek doesn't give him a chance to part his lips, to take it slow, he pushes, he takes, because he knows this is what Stiles needs.

When he tells him to get in this time, Stiles doesn't say a word, but he gets in the car.

*

It still hurts being in his loft, hurts seeing the place where Boyd died, where he was... It's why he keeps it, he can't let himself completely forget, but he can move on, at least a little. At least he's not trying to destroy himself anymore, not like Stiles is.

Derek pulls open the door, gestures for Stiles to enter first, sliding it closed feels so very final.

"If you're going to try and tell me it wasn't my fault again--" He's ready to fight, itching for it.

"Why would I? I bet everyone keeps trying to tell you it's not your fault."

The look catches him off guard, he knows Stiles is hurting, but for a second it's all there on his face, and it's painful to look at. He's seen it too many times in the mirror.

"My face was the last thing he saw." His voice breaks a little. Derek wonders if he's said his name since it happened.

"I know." He runs a hand over Stiles's face, smears his scent over the others clinging to this kid.

One tender moment that's for him, because that's not what Stiles needs. He grasps hold of Stiles's hair, pushes him to his knees right there next to the door.

"Take it out and suck it." The look Stiles gives him is half resentment, half relief.

This is the only way Derek knows how to take care of Stiles. He knows Scott would find a better way to fix this, but Scott's not here, not anymore, and this is the best Derek can do.


	6. Group B (no warnings)

26  
 **Notes:** this is a combo of the Sterek fandom's, "They totally had something going on over the summer!" hopes (between S2 and S3), and the speculation that the Alphas were fucking with peoples' memories.

 

Despite his loyalty to Scott, Derek can recognize Stiles' talents. Might even go so far as to say there's a thread of trust between them. It helps that Stiles seems to care about Erica and Boyd almost as much as Derek does. Too, he has the connection to the sheriff's department. They can track down leads the deputies can't or won't. Makes life easier and harder, but at least they're doing something.

At least Derek has honest help.

+

_i left you some info_ the text reads. _at the station. have to go to a job interview rme_

A stack of real estate ads isn't what Derek's expecting, but he can admit it's something he should consider. 

Stiles even went so far as to highlight all the apartments with free WiFi.

+

Stiles stares at the wall with the hole in it, one hand sifting through his longer hair. "Are you sure I included this one?"

+

Mid-July turns everything hot and humid, yet Stiles insists on his layers. Except his shoes and socks. The floor is concrete and even Derek can't walk around barefoot, but there Stiles is, his knobby toes exposed to the cold, tapping to a beat Derek can't hear.

It takes a moment for Derek to shake himself out of staring at Stiles' vulnerable ankles, feeling rather Victorian for how distracting they are.

+

The tension only grows in August, from a combination of the heat and still no sign of Erica and Boyd. Stiles shows up almost every day, and a part of Derek wants to ask about Scott, but he can't quite make himself say the name yet.

In the relentless heat and humidity, Stiles loses his armor one layer at a time, like the world's slowest striptease. Derek has seen Stiles in only t-shirts before, shorts at his lacrosse games, but this seems more. Combined with how easy they are together, trading snark like it's a reflex, the slow-building trust, Derek feels want for the first time. Finds it hard to tear his gaze away from the quiet definition in Stiles' arms and stomach, the soft fuzz beneath his belly button.

This slow simmer of attraction is new and a little intoxicating.

+

Derek should be worried that there's been no sign of the alphas, not since the stylized triskele on his door, but Stiles is good at distraction. Especially if his mouth is involved, the plush, wet heat of it sinking onto Derek's dick. Derek gets lost in the helpless sounds he makes, the liquid want in Stiles' eyes. He even forgets his own name, for a moment, when Stiles mouths at his balls and his tongue darts into the dark space behind them.

By the time Derek recovers, he's got Stiles' come splattered over his stomach and Stiles sitting next to him in the bed, a dusty book spread open in his lap.

Stiles grins. "The benefits of ADHD."

+

The more time passes, the more physical the sex, the both of them taking their frustrations out on each other. Guilt has Derek holding onto the scars Stiles leaves behind, a reminder of what they're working toward, how little time they have left before their twisted summer idyll is over.

They don't talk about where this is going. Derek accepted, from the first kiss, that whatever this is would have a fixed end date. He's not going to beg to continue. 

He can't.

+

The day before school starts, Stiles drops by, later than usual. Derek's in the kitchen, so he doesn't see Stiles at first, only hears the polite distance in Stiles' hello. Derek doesn't think anything of it until he wanders into the open living area to fetch a new book from his desk. That's when he sees Stiles, his back to Derek, head bowed low over something in his lap. Derek's steps falter at the shadow there, at Stiles' nape, and he can't quite bring himself to close the distance, knowledge heavy in his gut.

It takes a few minutes for Stiles to notice Derek frozen behind them, and when he twists to look, there is no intent there. No want. None of the teasing warmth Derek's felt in the last few weeks. It's all business, his smile crooked, confused, but safe.

+

Later, Derek thumbs over the scars, once, and decides everything's as it should be.

\---------------

27

 **Notes:** Erica survives the vault.

Boyd didn't remember much after they got out of the vault. He remembered the pull of the moon, how he couldn't stop the shift, the hunger that flooded his veins. He knew Erica was there, running with him, feeling the euphoria of their wolves for the first time in months. And then he remembered waking up in Derek's loft beside Erica, relief flooding his body at seeing her beside him. Whole. Alive. Free.

They'd left later that morning, finding their way to Boyd's empty house. Once behind his locked bedroom door, they let themselves celebrate, arms wrapping around each other, lips finding one another's. They may have been werewolves, but Boyd was nothing if not gentle. Careful fingers threaded through Erica's blonde curls, cupping the back of her neck as he tugged her in for a hungry kiss.

It wasn't their first kiss, but it was the first one in months that was more than a quick peck or a press of lips to a forehead for comfort. Erica easily pushed back, arms sliding around Boyd's waist, tugging him close, like she was as desperate as Boyd was. 

They fell into bed together, arms and legs tangling together, lips never drifting apart. They stayed like that for a long time, just kissing and touching, remembering the way their bodies fit together, reveling in the fact that they had lived, that they were still together. It was Erica that had started escalating things, her anxious fingers tugging and pulling at the hem of Boyd's shirt, shoving it up and over his head, before following suit with her own, her bra hitting the floor shortly after.

Boyd never got used to this, having Erica to himself, seeing her like this, being able to touch and kiss freely. He loved it, loved her, if he were honest. He'd gladly tell her if she asked. But Erica never asked; he wondered if she was afraid to hear a lie. 

He ran his hands over her body, down her back and up her sides before he let his fingers wander over the soft skin of her breasts, the pads of his thumbs brushing gentle circles around her nipples until he felt them stiffen. He felt Erica shiver against him and he smiled, burying his face in the crook of her neck to hide it, secretly pleased at the reaction.

Erica's hands were working open his pants, pulling the zipper down before tugging them down his legs, his boxers quickly following. His heart raced as he lay naked on the bed, watching as Erica stood up and finished undressing herself, just as gorgeous as the first time he saw her. The smile she offered him, almost shy, made his chest feel tight before it was gone, replaced with something predatory. Erica reached into his drawer and dug out a condom, opening it while she crawled into the bed, straddling his thighs.

Boyd reached out and rested his hands on her hips while she guided the condom over his cock, breath hitching at the contact. And then she was moving, guiding him inside her while she lowered herself down, his fingers tightening on her hips minutely while he tried not to let the feeling of Erica tight around him overwhelm him. It had been so long that it was all Boyd could do to hold himself together just a little longer, to let Erica take the pleasure she deserved.

Soon enough, Erica began to rock her hips in a slow rhythm, sending wave after wave of pleasure crashing through Boyd's body. He moaned softly, one hand reaching down between them, thumb sliding along her slick folds, finding her clit and teasing it as she moved, letting the roll of her hips determine the pressure. It wasn't long before they were moving together, rocking and gasping, drawing every last bit of pleasure they could from each other. They whispered promises to each other into the space between them as Erica shuddered above Boyd, her body tightening around him in her release, dragging him right along with her. His fingers gripped her hip while he came, pressing his thumb to her clit through the last waves of her orgasm.

After, they collapsed against each other, breathless and tired. Boyd pressed kiss after kiss to Erica, her cheek, her hair, her forehead, whispering as he did, finally letting her know how he felt. That he was grateful for her. That he was happy. That he loved her.

\---------------

28

 **Notes:** Scott bit Allison right before her death.

“Are you going to be okay?”

Allison nodded her head. Her bloodstained clothes were torn where the sword had stabbed her, but the skin under it was only marked with a faint scar that seemed to be receding even as he glanced at it. Chris cupped her face with his hand and kissed her forehead.

This was against everything he had been raised into, an insult to all traditions, a disservice to every hunter who followed their unwritten rules, including his late wife.

Chris was so happy he felt lightheaded.

“I’m going to step out for a bit. I’ve got my phone with me, alright?”

Already lying back against her pillow, eyes half-shut, his daughter gave a sleepy nod. Even a werewolf would get drowsy from healing a wound that severe.

Chris checked that the phone was in his pocket and shut the front door gently behind himself. After descending in the elevator, he stepped out into the night, breathing in the fresh, crisp air.

“You should have taken a jacket.”

He jumped, hand landing on his concealed gun, but relaxed when Derek stepped out of the shadows.

“Thanks, mom,” he said dryly, turning his gaze to the grey wall of apartment buildings over the street. He wished he were a smoker just to have something to do with his fingers. He hadn’t slept in days and the adrenaline was finally waning.

“Is she going to be fine?”

“Yes.”

Chris sat down on a knee-high wall surrounding ailing decorative plants, his back to the road. Derek was staring at him, but Chris had already gotten used to that.

“You were worried,” Chris said. “Why?”

“I’m not a monster. Allison had nothing to do with the fire and neither did you.”

“Did you check my heartbeat?”

Derek shook his head.

“I think you could probably lie to me, but you wouldn’t. I think you stand by the things you do.” Derek approached him. “Are you fine with what happened?”

Chris glanced at him. “Yes. I’d rather be a better father than a better hunter.”

If you wanted questionable choices, accepting his daughter’s transformation in exchange for her survival was probably on the lower end. It went against century old teachings, but Gerard had taught him many stupid things and his wife’s suicide had driven home to him the point that he didn’t want to lose someone for nothing anymore.

However, there were no good excuses for letting an ill-tempered werewolf almost half his age pull him up into a kiss (again and again, like he had for weeks now) besides the fact that something fundamental had been broken in Chris a while ago, right around the time he found out his sister had killed a family and his father would have murdered Chris’ daughter. With Derek, though, that was alright, enough. Chris’ family had almost destroyed Derek, too.

“We can’t go upstairs, Allison will hear us now,” Chris said, stopping Derek when he reached for his belt.

“Who said anything about going upstairs?”

Fair enough.

They ended up on the old sofa that had been dumped in the alley behind the house by a neighbour weeks ago. Derek nuzzled closer and pushed against him until he was on top of Chris. Soon, the hunter had both their manhoods in hand, Derek rutting against him, his claws ripping the armrest to the left and right of Chris’ head, springs creaking under them.

Chris stared at the sky, seeing a few stars despite the light pollution of the city, a plane passing overhead. He smelled mouldy fabric and the musty scent of leaves clinging to Derek and realised how goddamn difficult everything would have been if Derek hadn’t been there. Gently kissing the werewolf’s neck, lying on that rotting couch out in the night, he felt an overwhelming gratitude to the world.

\---------------

29

 **Notes:** When Stiles refused the bite, Peter gave it to him anyways; refusing to submit to Peter as his alpha and angry for having the choice taken from him, Stiles ended up being the one to kill him. Now the town alpha, Jackson starts to hound Stiles for the bite instead of Scott.

"A bite?"

The last player has left the locker room and Stiles is alone with him.

"A _scratch_?"

Jackson steps closer, too much into Stiles' space, smell too pungent, heartbeat too loud, presence too there, too _all consuming_ , the way Jackson has always been all-consuming. It was too much to deal with before, but now?—now it's making Stiles dizzy, his head reeling as he tries to get away. He only manages to back into a row of lockers, the force of his stumbling sending a shudder through the entire length of the metal.

Jackson just smiles, like he no longer needs proof to justify his requests. "I know what you are, Stilinski." He steps closer yet, and when Stiles looks up, jaw set, eyes hard, he's practically nose to nose with this bully; this blind, stupid conquistador, storming the distance from Stiles to the alpha inside of him, licking its lips. Irresponsible. Prowling, jaws open.

Stiles reaches up to shove Jackson back, knows that he could, but Jackson grabs his wrists and he lets him. Breathes hard through his nose, knows that Jackson is enjoying himself by that _stupid smell_ he's giving off. Jackson leans in close and whispers, and it sounds like water crashing in his head. "C'mon, Stilinski," he murmurs, tongue slipping out to slick his lips, and _oh_. Oh _yes_. That can be _exactly_ what this is about. "You can't honestly say you've _never_ wanted to bite me before."

Stiles' head turns a little faster than he expected and that makes him dizzier, or maybe kissing Jackson Whittemore just has that effect on people.

But that Jackson acts like he expected this, hand already up around Stiles' neck, forcing him closer (forcing _nothing_ , Stiles could pull away if he wanted to)—that's infuriating. Notwithstanding the hints he'd been dropping, Stiles had thought that he'd finally had the advantage.

Unexpectedly, it's Jackson overwhelming _him_. Stiles has some wicked sense giving him a premonition of the way it feels to have Jackson's hands on him before they even are, and Stiles' hands, in the same moment, fly to the elastic waistband of Jackson's athletic shorts.

Sensational. Something Stiles would never have assumed. How much more it is to feel Jackson with these heightened senses, with this hatred between them. So different from when he did this with Scott, back before the bite. So much heavier. So much more complicated. The dark pleasure of wanting to not want it.

But when Jackson takes another step towards him, Stiles readily hooks his leg up, pulling him gently closer. Jackson grabs him by the thigh, hoisting him up, and his last foot is no longer touching the ground. He wraps his other leg up around Jackson's waist and snarls a mean look, hoping his eyes are glowing. "Aren't _I_ the alpha here?" he spits accusingly.

Jackson just smirks and pushes a hard kiss into his throat. "You're not _my_ alpha yet."

Cocks together, trapped in a hallway of hipbones. Stiles reaches down and takes them in a single grip, working the flesh hard against one another, tearing the breaths right from their stomachs. He moans when Jackson sinks a finger into him, warm, wet. Squirms on it, working hard not to bite into Jackson's shoulder like he wants to. Like Jackson wants him to. Each loud breath he takes is spiked with a growl, the low rumble of sound echoing every grunt and sigh. Decidedly animal.

Jackson comes first, something Stiles chalks up to werewolf stamina because that's never happened before, but what it means that they sink to the floor and he's sitting in Jackson's lap before he can finish. He does, pulling furiously at his own dick and trying _really_ hard to not make eye contact with Jackson, who watches him with this superior, what-an-interesting-lab-experiment kind of way.

He finishes with no names on his lips, no names in his head, just Jackson's face right there, lips almost touching. In a very Stilinski move, he wipes his dirty hand on Jackson's jersey, but Jackson doesn't say anything. Just scowls and hits him on the arm. Stiles hardly even feels it.

"I'm not giving you the bite."

Jackson raises his eyebrows, but doesn't seem bothered. "I'll give you some time to think about that." Jostles his way out from under Stiles, landing him hard on the concrete floor.

Stiles huffs out a breath. Of _course_ this is going to be a _thing_.

\---------------

30

**Notes: Peter's still the Alpha.**

Stiles is Peter’s only bite. He always takes a certain pride in that, lets himself preen when Peter calls just him over, when Peter smiles at him, when Peter purrs praise. There’s Derek, too— the start of a pack. Needy Derek, a born wolf. Loyal to a fault. 

But Peter doesn’t want that. 

Peter wants strong, smart. Confident. Stiles never was those things. He was the goof who tripped over his feet at the cross country meet, the loser Lydia constantly turned down, the kid with the meds whose Dad called him home at midnight while everyone else snickered. 

The moment Peter’s teeth sunk in the world was different, blazing in technicolor, shiny and new. There’s the curve of Lydia’s smile, just for him. Coach’s exhalation as he barks out _Stilinski, first line_. Stiles fills out the shoulders of his t-shirts more fully, now. It makes him swagger a little, makes Scott’s asthmatic cough seem so pitiful. And the way Scott’s puppy-dog eyes turn to jealousy excites Stiles in a way he knows is not nice.

But of all the things Stiles is now — powerful, sleek, confident, clever — there is that _pull_. That animal urge to belong and succumb pooling somewhere deep, building slowly. It tugs him in circles until the full moon waxes, high and white in his window, and he winds up at his Alpha’s door with a hard cock and clenched hands.

The sensation hangs on his skin like the press of too-humid air, warm as blood on his tongue. Stiles shakes with it, and Peter takes one look at him and beckons him in. Derek’s already there, wrapped up in the sheets and naked, and that makes Stiles turn large, hurt eyes to Peter.

Peter smirks and raises an eyebrow as if to say _You still want it?_ And yes, of course Stiles does. Even if it hurts to be second.

“Roll him over,” Peter says, and Stiles obeys without thought, his new strength making it so easy. Derek is pliant in his sleep, muscles loose and limbs sprawling. His skin looks pale in the dim light, smooth and unblemished, but Stiles knows that claw marks fade fast.

“Tired him out,” Peter says by way of explanation. “Go ahead. Feel how loose he is. How ready he is for you.”

Stiles peels back the sheets and Derek doesn’t even twitch. The swirling black lines of his tattoo are bunched slightly between his shoulders, legs parted, the base of his balls visible between their easy spread. Stiles lays his hands on the backs of Derek’s knees and slides upward, feeling the coarse hair beneath his palms. Derek’s breathy sigh makes Stiles vividly aware of his drooling cock inside his boxers and Peter’s eyes sharp on his neck.

“Don’t be shy, Stiles. We’re Pack now. This is what Pack does on full moons.” And Stiles has never heard that before, but there’s a lot of things about wolves he’s never heard of and still he does them because Peter says so.

He dips his fingers forward, rubs his thumb between the clench of Derek’s cheeks, right against that tight furl of skin. It’s wet and soft and Stiles sucks in a breath that tastes like power, and then he’s pushing in further and parting Derek with just his thumb. It slides in easily, Derek so open that Stiles is quickly fumbling with the button of his pants and shoving them down around his knees.

And there’s the pull again, that magnetic force yanking him forward, clawing out from his gut and slicking down his muscles as he pulls Derek’s hips up. Stiles lines up, the head of his cock dripping wetly, blunt against Derek’s flexing hole. He waits there, not sure why until he feels Peter’s hands at his hips, Peter’s cock warm against his back, Peter’s teeth snicking down into his shoulder. Stiles bares his neck and eases inside, Derek so relaxed in sleep that he just sinks in.

 

“That’s my good boy,” Peter praises, and Stiles swells with the words. The pull tugs him back and forth between the Alpha and the Beta, peaking when Peter parts Stiles’ cheeks with strong hands and forces his cock inward. Peter fucks up into him hard, rhythm unflagging as Stiles’ orgasm rushes over his skin, sharp and perfect. The knot in Stiles’ belly loosens, replaced by the lazy spread of warmth as Peter’s thrusts turn unhurried, Derek soft and silent beneath them.

\---------------

31

 **Notes:** no Hale fire

Derek Hale is standing in his boxers at the fridge, drinking juice out of the carton like he just woke up. It's noon. 

Stiles stares, mouth-breathing. 

The man pauses and wipes his lips when he sees him, grumbles "What're you looking at?"

"Uhhhhhh?" Stiles says, voice cracking.

"Stilinski, get your freaky brain back in here!" Cora shouts from the living room.

Stiles swallows and ducks out, rejoins his study group. 

"I thought you were getting chips?" Jackson complains.

"Dude, _Cora_. Your older brother is so--" Stiles starts.

"Don't even say it," Cora hisses.

"-- _hot_ ," Stiles mouths, dazed. 

She groans.

*

A year later, he's more confident, finally grown into his big hands and feet, shoulders broadening out. 

"Hey, hey Derek," he says, waving awkwardly.

Derek is sitting on a picnic blanket, waiting for the fireworks to start. He frowns up at Stiles, looking confused.

"I'm...Cora's friend?" Stiles tries but then slumps away, face burning, when Derek just stares at him. 

*

He's wrestling with Cora on the floor, laughing like a dork when Derek steps over them, headed out the door.

Stiles blushes, distracted, and Cora pins him with a "You weakling, Stiles!"

Derek smirks.

Stiles flushes in embarrassment, goes slack until Cora lets him up and then he sits there with his head in his hands. Derek's car starts outside.

"Hey, you ok?" she asks, uncomfortable.

"Yeah," he mutters. That's it. No more crush.

*

Senior year, he's inhaling a sandwich by himself in the diner when Derek nudges through the door, looking devastatingly attractive in his leather jacket. Stiles looks back at his book, sighing. 

It's been two years since the last time he made an ass of himself in front of the guy and it still smarts.

He's deep in _The Martian Chronicles_ when a plastic-wrapped sweet bun is thumped down by his elbow. 

He looks up in surprise at Derek's retreating back.

*

They have their graduation party at Hale Pond. Someone draped Christmas lights on the trees. From the wooden platform in the middle of the pond, Stiles can hear the whir of the generator, a loon laughing somewhere in the dark.

He lays out there under the moon for a long time, breathing in the night.

And then the wood underneath him creaks and dips at the edge and he looks, gapes as Derek Hale pulls himself out of the water, dark hair slick to his broad chest.

"Uhhhhhh--" Stiles says, sitting up. They meet in the middle and Stiles jolts as pond-cool hands touch his face. 

"Goddamnit, Stiles--" Derek hisses and then they're 

_Kissing?_

He's being kissed by Derek Hale. And it's _soft_. So sweet and warm it makes Stiles shiver.

They break apart and Stiles makes a confused sound.

Derek is drawing in air like he's drowning, his big, damp hands drifting down to Stiles' shoulders, feeling. Clutching. 

"What?" Stiles blurts and then they're kissing again, this time with _tongues_ , Derek ducking down to take more, to angle in for something richer, deeper.

When the part once more, Stiles is gasping. 

Derek drops his forehead to Stiles' bare shoulder, mouth tagged open and hot there, tasting.

Stiles' fingernails dig into the wood float. 

"The day you got all big enough for me to look at you, you stopped looking back," Derek growls into his skin, tongue lashing. Stiles hisses, nipples peaking. "Jesus, Stiles. I've been head over heels for you for 2 years but you wont _look_ at me."

Warm breath moves down his chest while Stiles arches, confused and quaking in his body, a strangled sound in his throat when Derek gets to his abs and kisses there, tender.

"Oh god--" Stiles whimpers and drops back on the float with a _thunk_ as a hand slips into his trunks. 

Derek settles close, a hot line at his side, and breathes damp and messy at Stiles' throat. "Stiles, is this ok??"

And then a warm, calloused palm is petting his virgin cock and Stiles is making this wild, sobbing sound.

"Ok?" Derek begs and Stiles nods enthusiastically, tears in his eyes and face screwed up in pleasure as the love of his life tongues behind his ear and strokes him off eagerly.

\---------------

32

 **Notes:** Instead of accepting her death, Scott tried to turn Allison and it worked. The rest of 3B happened like canon, but now Allison is a werewolf.

Chris pulled on his coat and absently patted his pockets feeling for each of his weapons. Once he was sure that everything was in place he swung open the apartment door only to find Derek blocking his way.

Derek crossed his arms over his chest and raised one eyebrow. "No."

"She's my daughter and I'm not going to leave her alone—"

"She's not alone. Scott's with her," Derek said as if that made everything okay. Maybe it did for Derek, but Chris wasn't a werewolf enamored by his alpha and so he didn't budge. Derek sighed and actually pushed Chris back into the apartment. "It's her first full moon and you don't need to see it."

"I can handle it."

"I didn't say you couldn't." Derek continued to manhandle Chris through the apartment and onto the couch. Chris wasn't just some pushover that could be bullied and to make his point he pulled a vial of wolfsbane out of his pocket and shook it at Derek, but Derek didn't even flinch. He just rolled his eyes and plucked the vial out of Chris' hand, placing it on the coffee table. "Chris, you don't want to watch her lose control and the last thing she needs is to be worrying about what you think."

 

Chris deflated at the words. Derek was right. Allison would be more comfortable without her hunter father watching her go through the change—especially knowing what he'd done to her mother under the same circumstances. "Fine, but I'm going to hold **you** responsible if Scott messes this up."

"He won't." Derek sounded absolutely sure of Scott's abilities and this time Chris let himself be comforted by that certainty. 

Chris glanced out of the window where the moon was just starting to rise and then at Derek, who seemed the same as always despite the moonlight bathing him. "It really doesn't bother you anymore?"

Derek tilted his head back into the shaft of light. He closed his eyes as he soaked up the moon's rays reminding Chris of a sunbather. "It's energizing."

"That’s all?"

"Everything's heightened," Derek said. "If I'm angry then the full moon makes me angrier."

Chris scooted closer to Derek, drawn by the play of light over his handsome face. He reached out to run his fingers down Derek's stubbled jaw, tracing the edges of the moonlight. "What about other things?"

Derek opened his eyes, a wolfish grin spreading across his face. He grabbed Chris' hand and tugged him forward against his chest. " _Everything_ is more intense."

Chris could feel how hard Derek was against his leg and it was enough to make him forget his indignation at being manhandled once again. "Show me."

Derek's lips crashed into his. It was a rough, unforgiving kiss full of teeth and Chris gave as good as he got, biting down hard on Derek's lower lip. Derek growled at the harsh treatment, sounding more like wolf than man. Chris hated that the animalistic rumbling actually turned him on, but his aching cock didn't care about decades of anti-werewolf propaganda. It just liked Derek—wolf and all.

He grabbed Derek's belt, undoing it with hands trained to be steady in any circumstance. He pushed Derek's pants down just far enough to get a hand on Derek's dick. 

"You too." Derek's fingers grew claws and before Chris had time to protest, he'd sliced Chris' pants open. 

"Watch it!" Chris exclaimed, but he didn't have to worry because Derek retracted his claws and freed Chris' dick with surprisingly gentle hands. 

"I've got you," Derek said as he took both of their cocks in his hand, stroking them together. 

"I know." 

**

"Dad!" Allison yelled. "I'm home!"

Chris stuck his head out of the kitchen, relieved to see that his little girl had made it through the night safety. "I'm making breakfast. How do you want your eggs?"

Allison didn't respond. She'd come to an abrupt stop and was staring wide-eyed at the couch. "Dad, are you sleeping with Derek?"

Fuck. He'd forgotten about her new sense of smell. He'd meant to break his relationship with Derek to her a lot gentler. "Allison, I've been alone for a long time and—"

Allison held her hand up. "I don't want to talk about it." She wrinkled her nose in disgust and Chris could only imagine what the couch must smell like to her this morning. "Ever. But Dad, you're not allowed to get mad about me dating werewolves again." 

"Fair enough."

\---------------

33

 

 **Notes:** Starts immediately following 3b, but goes AU from Unleashed (3x04) on. It'll make sense when you read it.

 

When Derek wakes, he can’t see anything. He only feels pain, settling deep within his bones. The scent of burning fills his nostrils and he wonders if Kate plans to finally finish the job she started seven years ago.

He wants to fight back, but the battle’s drained out of him. Life has finally defeated him. 

Derek sighs, thinks of his anchor, and waits for his inevitable death.

~

He regains consciousness slowly, head groggy, vision fuzzy in the dimly lit room. It takes Derek a second to realize that he’s still alive, but instead of relief, disappointment unfurls in his gut.

He takes a moment to catalogue his surroundings. He’s lying on a cold, hard table, pillow beneath his head. Quiet voices filter into the room, but Derek’s senses are too muddled to pick them out. There’s something familiar about them in a way that makes his chest ache, but before he can put the pieces together, he passes out.

~

The next time he open his eyes, Deaton’s standing over him. He must sense Derek’s impending panic almost immediately.

“Don’t worry, you’re safe. How are you feeling?” he asks.

Derek doesn’t know how to answer. But the decision’s taken from him when he notices someone standing behind Deaton.

Boyd. He’s just watching Derek with concern in his eyes, breathing, smiling... _alive_.

Then Derek really panics, and everything goes dark once more.

~

When Derek wakes again, there are two significant differences: first, he’s strapped to Deaton’s examining table. Second, there’s someone sitting beside him, holding his wrist.

“Hey big guy, you’re awake.”

Derek turns his head to look at Stiles. The fingers are warm against his skin, Stiles’ familiar scent and heartbeat overwhelming his senses. For a second, Derek can’t _breathe_ , because this isn’t real. Stiles isn’t here, Boyd’s not alive, this _isn’t happening_.

Stiles’ eyes widen. “Whoa, calm down. You’ve been through a lot.”

“This isn’t real,” Derek insists.

Stiles stares at him sadly. “Wow, Deaton wasn’t exaggerating. Look, we’ll explain everything once you’ve healed, but for now, you need rest.”

Derek knows he shouldn’t give up so easily, but he feels safe here with Stiles. So, he sleeps.

~

Over the course of the next few days Derek learns a lot. He discovers that the alpha pack was working with Kate all along, that after Deucalion removed the steel pipe, he was taken. Everything that happened over the past few months was all a toxic wolfsbane-induced hallucination.

He learns that Boyd never died, there was no Darach, and no parental self-sacrifices. Stiles wasn’t possessed by a nogitsune and Allison’s still alive. Derek’s still an alpha, though Scott is now one too, the one and only similarity.

It’s a lot to take in, too much some days. So Derek counts his fingers, tries to breathe, waits for the other shoe to drop.

~

The loft is different from how he remembers it. It’s furnished now, no blood stains…but he knows immediately that he can’t stay there.

Instead, he buys back his family’s land. Cora never left for South America, so he works to repair their relationship while also rebuilding their former home. The pack stops by often to help, and it eases something in Derek’s chest to have them around. Stiles hovers sometimes, and Derek is strangely grateful.

Most importantly, he’s finally starting to heal.

~

“Hey, can I ask you something?”

Derek glances up at Stiles, who’s sprawled across his new leather couch.

“Back after we first found you...you wouldn’t calm down except when I was around.” Stiles pauses. “I was just...I mean...why?”

Derek considers lying, but he’s had enough of that for one lifetime. “You were my anchor.”

Stiles hesitates. “Am I still?”

“Yes.”

~

Stiles kisses Derek a week later.

~

Unsurprisingly, Stiles anchors Derek during sex, too.

Their bodies meld together, like they were made for each other. Sweat glistens on Stiles’ skin, hair matted to his forehead as he fucks Derek, and Derek thinks he’s never seen anything more beautiful in his life. Derek trails fingers from Stiles’ shoulders down to his ass, digging his nails in as he thrusts his hips to match Stiles’ rhythm.

Stiles moans, leans down to kiss the corner of Derek’s mouth, and Derek reaches up to bury a hand in his hair. When Stiles is close, he reaches down down, wraps a hand around Derek’s cock, and it only takes a few strokes before Derek’s coming hot between them. Stiles thrusts into him twice more then stills, coming inside Derek like he belongs there.

(He does.)

\---------------

34

Cora hugs herself on the cold cement floor, trying to fall asleep. She envies Erica and Boyd, curled together on the opposite wall. They’re fidgeting, too, clothes rustling in the quiet cell. Then Cora smells arousal, hears the drag of a zipper.

"She'll hear!" Boyd whispers. 

"So?” Erica says. “I don’t want to die a virgin. Do you?”

He doesn’t respond aloud. But Cora hears Erica’s quiet gasp, the wet, rhythmic slap of flesh on flesh. The sex smell ripens in the air.

“You guys are disgusting,” Cora grumbles, trying to dull her senses to human levels.

“Jealous?” Erica asks.

Cora snorts, turning her back to them. She doesn’t want to die a virgin, either.

***

Every morning, the Alphas toss food through the mountain ash circle, never enough. Boyd divides it evenly. They work out to keep their strength up. They talk. Cora tells them about the brother who skipped high school to come to her third-grade play with a dozen roses. 

Erica and Boyd look at each other.

“I don’t think you’ll find that guy in Beacon Hills,” Boyd says gently.

Cora glares at the wall, throat tight. They’ve already told her about _their_ Derek. The first day in the vault, Cora had pummeled Erica to the ground for the names she’d called him, before Boyd shoved in between them. She thinks about the pack she left behind in Argentina at the first rumor that Derek was alive. Do they miss Cora, or will they have forgotten about her already? She wonders if the brother she’s going to find is worth the hunger gnawing at her belly, the buzz of concentrated moonlight in her veins. She wonders if she’ll live to find him at all.

Every night, Erica and Boyd move together, while Cora glares at the floor. She hates them a little for having each other. She hates the scent of her own arousal as she listens to their quiet gasps and slick, wet sounds, smells the satisfaction rolling off them. 

"You get off on this,” Erica groans one night.

Cora opens her eyes to see her riding Boyd, tits bouncing, head thrown back in apparent ecstasy.

"On you two fucking like animals?"

“On watching us.” Erica smiles, cruel. "You smell like you get off on it. I bet you want to touch yourself."

"I can't help it if you two-" Cora starts.

Boyd interrupts. "Do it!”

"What?"

"Touch yourself,” he groans, arcing up into Erica. “You want to, right?"

Cora swallows. "Yeah."

"Then do it."

Erica’s unsure expression gives Cora the courage to unbutton her jeans. She reaches beneath the elastic waistband of her panties, circling her clit with one finger, hard and fast, the way she likes.

"I can't see," Boyd protests.

Emboldened, Cora kicks the jeans and panties free, so she's sitting in front of them wearing only her shirt. She spreads her legs, dragging her fingers through her wet cunt. The heat of Boyd’s gaze pushes her farther than she normally goes, and she shoves two fingers deep inside of herself, shudders more from his groan of appreciation than the penetration.

"Fuck, that's hot," he says, pulling Erica down hard. She grunts, eyes fluttering shut.

They finish that way, Boyd and Erica together, Cora alone.

***

“I wonder what will happen on the lunar eclipse,” Erica says, head lolling back against Boyd’s shoulder.

Cora snorts. “Nothing.”

“What do you mean?” Boyd asks, leaning forward.

“We lose our powers,” Cora says. “We’re nothing during an eclipse.”

“You mean we’re human,” Boyd says.

Cora rolls her eyes. “Same thing.”

“Born wolves!” Erica huffs, though her voice is tired, barely spiteful. Malnutrition is getting to all of them. “You and Derek think you know so much.” 

“There’s a lot I don’t know,” Cora admits, too tired to fight. 

“Like what?” Boyd asks.

She twists her ponytail, glaring at the floor. “I don’t know what I’ll say to Derek, if I see him again.” She hesitates, adds, “I don’t know if I’ll die before losing my virginity.”

Erica smiles at her, and it’s a real smile, not a catty one. She takes Boyd’s hand, twines their fingers together. "What do you say we give Little Miss Voyeur a lesson in fucking?" 

Boyd is already reaching out for Cora. She stands on shaky legs and goes to them.

\---------------

35

 

 **Notes:** Jackson doesn't go to London and stays in Beacon Hills. Derek allows him to join the pack, provided he submits to a little 'initiation'.

"Fuck, Boyd," Jackson yelled as claws pierced into his side. Boyd thrust into him a few more times and then let out a growl as he unloaded inside him. Jackson was bent over a table; Derek had chained his feet to the bottoms of the legs on one side and tied his hands to the tops of the legs on the other.

"You were great," he heard Boyd whisper in his ear before he pulled out. Jackson could hear and sense at least two other people in the room, but couldn't see them since Derek had insisted on blindfolding him, too.

Jackson started to relax when he felt a hand on his back and someone else lined up and pressed their cock into his hole. He tried to focus on the scent, but the sensations he was feeling and the smell of sex in the room made it difficult to sort out who it was.

"Boyd got you nice and loose for me," Scott said as he ran a hand through Jackson's hair. He was a bit gentler than Boyd had been, for which Jackson was thankful, but after about a dozen thrusts, he picked up his speed and intensity until he was pounding into Jackson's ass. The sound of their skin smacking together drowned out everything else in the room for Jackson and he couldn't make out the conversations going on behind them.

Without warning, Jackson felt Scott shudder and in the next instant he was coming. Jackson clenched down on Scott's cock simply because he could and he smiled at the groan Scott made in response. Scott pulled out of him quickly and was gone without a word.

Working to steady his breathing, Jackson braced himself for the next guy to push in at any moment. He startled when he felt skin touch against his lips. "I want your mouth, Jacks," Isaac said softly. Jackson hesitated for a moment, but he realized he probably couldn't object even if he wanted. Instead, he open his mouth and took Isaac's cock in, trying his best not to gag as Isaac pushed into his throat. Isaac pulled back, moving in more slowly the second time, giving Jackson more time to adjust as he tried to work even deeper.

Just as Jackson took all of Isaac's cock for the first time, he let out a groan that stopped in his throat. Derek - he knew it had to be Derek - had slipped in behind him and started fucking him.

"Damn," Derek muttered. "They got you nice and loose and wet, didn't they?" Jackson couldn't answer since his mouth was full with Isaac's cock, so he just pushed back against Derek's cock as much as his restraints would allow. "He's an eager one, isn't he, Isaac?"

"Fuck, yeah," Isaac replied. "He definitely knows how to take it." Isaac put a hand on the back of Jackson's head and held his cock in Jackson's throat for a moment before pulling out completely. Jackson could hear Isaac stroking his cock in front of his face while Derek started pushing in harder and faster.

"I'm gonna come," Isaac announced just before Jackson felt strings of warmth shoot across his face. Some of it landed on Jackson's lips and Isaac used a finger to push it into Jackson's mouth. "That's a good boy," Isaac said before Jackson heard him walk away.

"Just you and me now," Derek growled between breaths. Jackson felt like he was going to melt into the table. He was covered with sweat and reeked of come, but Derek showed no signs of slowing or stopping. "A pack is not a club. A pack is not a family. We're more than that. There is nothing more important."

Jackson wanted to say that he didn't understand how the events of the evening were meant to illustrate that, but he knew it was best to just keep his mouth shut. Instead he just groaned out an "Oh, yeah".

Derek made one more rough push into Jackson and came, his load joining Boyd's and Scott's. "You let us mark you and make you ours, Jackson. We're a part of you and you're a part of us. We're all a part of each other and you will need to understand that." Derek pulled out and Jackson heard him head toward the door.

"Um, the restraints?" Jackson asked.

"We'll be back," Derek answered. "For another round. Didn't think this would be _that_ easy, did you?"

\---------------

36

It wasn't so much that Stiles couldn't sleep, so much as that he felt like he was going to fall through the floor and into further insanity if he closed his eyes too long. It had felt that way for a while, since his best friend had been bitten by an alpha werewolf and they found themselves tossed into a whirlwind of supernatural events. Now, there was a werewolf sleeping on his bed while Stiles spun slow, squeaky circles in his desk chair.  
Derek, of course, wasn't bad decoration, especially not when he refused to wear any of Stiles' too-small shirts and fell asleep sprawled over most of Stiles' bed. Danny would have appreciated the view.  
Stiles had given up telling himself that he didn't also appreciate it. There was just so much of it to appreciate; those sculpted abs, the scruff of black clinging to his jawline, the curve of his hipbone peeking out from his jeans. His hair was tousled from shifting around, and stiles found himself missing the pale blue of his eyes, even if all they ever did was glare at him.  
Sighing, he closed his eyes and scrubbed the heel of his palm over his cock. There was no way he was jacking off with Derek in the room, even if it would be to thoughts of those arms pressing him up against the wall, holding him up, those hips bucking up as Derek fucks into him.  
A small noise escaped him, and he covered his mouth, eyes flying open to check if Derek had heard. No, Stiles decided. Derek was still asleep, one hand splayed over his belly, the other tucked under the pillow. Stiles' eyes wandered up over his skin, tracing his fingers, following the curve of his body up to his elbow.  
Stiles contained a groan, running a palm over his face as he turned away and spinning his chair in another slow circle, eyes closed.  
 _Calm down_ , he told himself, repeating it slowly, carefully.  
"You may as well just do it," came Derek's exhausted voice, muffled slightly by his arm.  
Stiles startled out of his chair, attempting to both get up and get out at the same time and accomplishing neither. The crash of his chair would have woken his father, if his father had been home.  
"I wasn't doing anything!" Stiles objected from the floor. He groped one hand out, and shoved the chair away from himself. Rolling over, he clambered to his feet, only to find Derek giving him a sour glare. Stiles told himself it wasn't hot, but he could tell he was lying to himself.  
"Your entire room smells like arousal, your heartbeat shoots up every couple of minutes, and you have spent most of the last two hours staring at me," Derek told him, exasperation so strong Stiles could practically feel it man-handling him. It wasn't hot. It wasn't.  
Stiles groaned and covered his face. "I'm sorry," he said miserably. "I can't sleep."  
For a few moments, Derek just regarded him in silence, long enough for Stiles to peek out from between his fingers to see if he was about to be murdered. Derek was sitting, though Stiles hadn't heard him move, and he nodded for Stiles to come over. "Come here," he said, when Stiles remained frozen to the spot.  
Hesitantly, Stiles moved over, skirting around his chair, and moving as close as he dared, until Derek reached out and wrapped warm fingers around his wrist, pulling him over. "What are you doing?" Stiles asked, voice gone hoarse. He knew what Derek was doing, he just didn't believe it.  
"Helping," Derek said simply, tugging Stiles down into his lap, Stiles' back pressed up against his chest.  
Stiles let out a shaky breath. "Okay," he replied. "You're not going to, like, rip my throat out, are you?"  
Derek's chuckle was a pleasant rumble. "I think I can find a better use for my teeth tonight," he murmured before nipping gently at the soft skin at the nape of Stiles' neck. His hand found the hard line of Stiles' cock and stroked over it. Stiles gasped, back arching and his hands flying to cover Derek's.  
"Oh," he breathed out. As Derek did it again, Stiles' hands following the motion this time, Stiles thought he still wasn't going to get much sleep tonight, but he didn't think it was so bad anymore.

\---------------

37

**Notes: What if Stiles had been the one getting the bite and not Scott?**

The bathroom was cold, not that Stiles cared. His werewolf physique warmed him despite the cool air against naked torso. His blood would burn when his second full moon approached tonight. Stiles felt the anger, the power, the lust. It brought a need for blood only matched by the sexual desire stirring in his loins, which much to Stiles’ surprise, wasn’t just for Lydia Martin, but also for that annoying, dark, brooding beta who had warned him to stay away from Lydia during the full moon.

Everything had gone wrong since Stiles’s first full moon.

They were a miserable pack of killers: Peter was the worst. Stiles hated the Alpha for bringing him into this mess, for killing all those people --except maybe Kate. He’d thought he hated Derek, but he was wrong. What got to Stiles most was how much he needed Derek, and how right he had been to tell Stiles to stay away from Scott.

The coppery taste of his best friend’s blood lingered in his mouth. Peter later said it was Scott’s price for betraying him, but Stiles knew that wasn’t right --Scott had only meant to help.

After Stiles had pinned Lydia to the coach’s desk --ripping her clothes-- they both knew he couldn’t be trusted; the pull of the beast was too strong. Stiles left Lydia behind unharmed, momentarily reining in the beast, but he would’ve gone back that night if Derek hadn’t been there to stop him.

Stiles knew Scott wanted to keep him safe by having the Argents lock him up during the next full moon, but Kate had tortured him out of his mind. When Peter and Derek released him, it was Scott who met his gory end by the claws of his feral friend. Stiles wished that Derek hadn’t killed Allison’s dad before the hunter could put him down. Living with the memory of being drenched in Scott’s blood was too much.

That night, Peter took his final revenge and killed the rest of the Argents. For him it was over; like a true psychopath he moved on from bloodbath to pack life. Stiles didn’t mind being around Derek, but he waited until he heard Peter walk out the door before leaving the bathroom.

“Where’s that creep heading off to?”

Derek arched an eyebrow. “Scott’s mom.”

“What?!” Stiles saw red and rushed toward the door.

Derek grabbed his wrist and pulled him back. Loaded with pre-full moon aggression, Stiles shoved back, forcing him to let go. “So he gonna kill her, too?”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Derek scolded him. “He’s just into her.”

“He gets her son killed, then uses that to get laid --that’s sick!”

Derek gave an uncaring shrug. Stiles lashed out, cutting Derek with claws he hadn’t even noticed extended. Seconds later Stiles was face down on the sofa. Derek’s weight pinned him down as he twisted Stiles’ arm behind his back.

The wolf inside him protested.

“Control it,” Derek demanded.

“I can’t!” Stiles growled.

“I can teach you - but you’ve got to let me.” 

Derek eased up and Stiles immediately pushed free, only to be trapped under Derek again, held down more forcefully.

“Scott didn’t understand,” Derek said, ignoring how the name sent tears to Stiles’ eyes. “I warned you, offered my help…”

Stiles was too overcome with rage to listen. Part of him wanted help --Derek’s help-- but the other part wanted to do beastly things to Derek. There was no other way to describe it: being that close to him made him want to release the aggression inside him, but also give in to that primal lust.

At least Derek could fend him off; knowing that, Stiles felt even less compelled to restrain himself. He could smell Derek: he wasn’t as obviously lost to his primal urges.

Stiles waited for the right moment, twisting free. He lashed out, left more red streaks on Derek’s shirt while his own torso was catching blows and cuts. They fought - it was both deadly serious, and playful as they tore up the place, ripping at each other. 

It ended with Derek on top of him, Stiles instinctively baring his throat. The gesture wasn’t nearly so strange when compared to the smell of arousal in the air. Stiles wondered if giving in to the lust might drown out the urge to kill.

“Whatever happens tonight,” Stiles said, “don’t let me kill anyone.”

Derek nodded. “If I have to pin you down all night long…”

\---------------

38

 **Notes:** set in the four months before season 3A started

They're two and a half months into their... _thing_ , whatever it is, when Stiles finally breaks.

"What is this?" he asks quietly, and tries not to flinch when the hand that's been petting his hair freezes. "It doesn't have to be anything," he adds hastily, although it kills him to say, and Derek can actually _hear_ the lie in his heartbeat. But that's fine, because he'd rather have this over nothing.

They're both still naked and a bit sweaty, which is normal, but now there's thickness in the air, tension that wasn't there before, that has Stiles' breath catching in his throat. There's a long pause where Stiles is berating himself for opening his big, stupid mouth, when Derek's hand resumes its course, scritching along Stiles' scalp. It feels so good it's hard for Stiles not to purr and burrow his face further into Derek's neck, post-coital sweat be damned.

"It doesn't have to be anything you don't want it to be," Derek says, so quietly that Stiles thinks that he imagined it for a second.

He takes a moment to parse that out in his head. "What do _you_ want?" he returns eventually, lifting his head to meet Derek's gaze steadily.

He's not prepared for the flurry of emotions that crosses Derek's face, and he's definitely unprepared for Derek to end up looking like he'd been flayed open, young and vulnerable and raw.

When Derek finally speaks, his voice is hoarse.

" _You_ , Stiles. I want you."

Stiles can't help but surge forward to kiss him then, and his heart stutters a little in his chest when Derek makes a soft, wounded noise at the back of his throat, before his hands come up to clutch at Stiles' jaw and hold on to him like he's drowning.

Stiles will never get tired of the way Derek takes everything he offers him and gives it back softer and sweeter than Stiles ever thought was possible.

And so, tonight, he turns the tables, and takes his time with Derek.

He trails soft kisses around the smooth planes of Derek's heartbreakingly beautiful body; the line of his jaw, the grooves in his hips leading down to his cock, the insides of his knees. He drags his mouth slowly against Derek's skin, whispering things like, " _beautiful_ " and " _perfect_ " and " _you're amazing, Derek, you're so good for me_ ", pressing the words into him and hoping at least some of it stays in there. It feels like hours when he finally slicks his fingers, and his breath sticks in his throat when Derek muffles a hitching sob into the pillow at the soft press of Stiles' fingers at his rim.

Stiles shushes him gently when the first finger slides in past the ring of muscle. "It's okay," he tells Derek, kissing his hip. "I've got you."

It doesn't take long until Derek is ready for another, and when Stiles brushes against his prostate, Derek whines.

" _Please_ , Stiles."

It's the first words he's spoken since his earlier admission and Stiles' own patience is wearing thin.

"Okay," he reassures Derek, sliding his fingers out and patting Derek's thigh comfortingly when Derek lets out a little noise at the loss. He takes as little time as possible to slick himself up and before long, the head of his dick is rubbing against Derek's hole, dipping in at the sweet, easy give of it.

Derek fumbles his hand back, and Stiles is confused for a moment until Derek's hand catches his, and his heart aches a little when Derek laces their fingers together.

The hot clutch of Derek's body when Stiles finally slides in is overwhelming. It always has been, and tonight, it's even more so, with Derek panting quietly into the pillow, his whole body trembling. Stiles goes slow, but the drag of his cock in and out of Derek is enough to get them both moaning, Stiles running a hand down Derek's sweaty back reverently.

They come within a beat of the other, Derek coming untouched after Stiles bites him on the juncture between his neck and his shoulder when Stiles finishes inside him.

Later, when they're curled around each other, sleepy and sated, Derek clears his throat again.

"Thank you," he says into the quiet air, like a confession.

Stiles says nothing, just presses a kiss to the sharp bone of Derek's shoulder, and for that soft, beautiful moment, they're both blissfully unaware of the shadowy tendrils of darkness curling its way out of the Nemeton.

\---------------

39

 **Notes:** Boyd and Erica are alive.

Derek and Scott find all three of their lost wolves in the bank. Thank goodness, no one’s died yet.

#

The three of them were safe. They were safe and the twins and Kali were dead and it was _Boyd_ that saved them. And they’ll fight and win (they have to win) and save the day, but not yet. Not yet.

#

Erica just wanted to take a breath, to be outside, to smell the town, to never be locked up again. She doesn’t even think she can go home until it’s over. She just escaped a real cage, she doesn’t want to be caged by anyone’s expectations.

#

Boyd was so fucking relieved. His off the wall plan actually fucking worked. He couldn’t help but laugh and twirl and just fucking howl his joy to the moon. He was out, he was alive and he had Erica.

#

Together Erica and Boyd split off from Scott, Derek and Cora. They want to run, to soar, to hide in the forest where the rest of the Alpha pack wouldn’t dare tread, because they have been dealt a deadly fucking blow and they will retreat to lick their wounds, instead of venturing deep into the Preserve where it still smells faintly of Derek’s family and now smells like their tiny coalescing pack.

They run through the trees, playfully nipping and lunging at each other until Erica finally takes Boyd down and they roll around the leaves. They tumble down the clearing not stopping until they fall into a dip on the forest floor. Boyd lands on top of Erica and manages to wind both of them.

Erica pushes him off her and closes her eyes, getting her air back. Boyd just flops down at her side, looking up at the sky. 

He looks over and asks, “Why do you have your eyes closed?”

“I don’t want this to be a dream.”

Boyd rolls over towards her and pulls Erica into his arms, snuggling and smelling her not fresh hair and says, “Do you want me to prove we’re alive?”

Erica snorts and says, “Sure, why not? We’ve hit all the classics, why not one more.”  
She twists back to kiss Boyd and lets herself sink into the kiss and just focus on the feel of his warm skin and wet mouth, his gentle hands stroking her face and rubbing her arms. It’s tender and soft and nothing like what she wants, so Erica wraps her legs around him and pulls him down.

Boyd pulls back from the kiss, startled. “You really want to go at it, right here?”

“Yeah, I thought that’s what you meant.”

Boyd looks pensive for an instant, before flashing a brilliant smile at her. “Just can’t resist me, huh, babe.”

Erica just snorts at him, “Yeah, I’m a real babe, looking like I do.”

Boyd just kisses her quiet and from there it leads into them rutting against each other. He breaks the kiss, panting, “Erica, your strength and confidence make you a babe, not how hot you dress. You’re here, with me, and I will take you on a ‘we survived shopping spree’ when we’re done.”

“Yes, yes, sounds great, now pull your pants down.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

Erica watches Boyd stand up and shuck his pants off in a swoop. She smiles sweetly and beckons him close and lets that smile curve into a wicked smirk and spreads her legs a little wider, so slick her lips glisten in the faint ambient light.

“Feel up to a fuck?” Erica challenges.

Boyd just growls and quickly kneels back down. He grabs her ass and pulls her onto his lap, while she sits up and gets her feet on the ground. Erica doesn’t bother to do more then grab his cock to hold it steady while she sinks down to envelop him in her cunt.

Between him pulling her down by her ass and her pulling up, they quickly establish a frenzied rhythm, each trying so hard to climax and just feel something amazing, something _good_ that they finish fast. Erica doesn’t bother to climb off Boyd’s cock, instead just wrapping her arms around him and laying her head on his shoulder.

They just sit in silence for a while, calming down, before Erica says, “You’ll stay with me, right, after this is all over?”

“Yes, yes of course!,” Boyd nuzzles into her hair, “Hell, after this, you can even learn to drive in my car.”

\---------------

40

 **Notes:** Takes place at the end of season two, just before season three. Gerard decided to torture him rather than just beat him up, and that extra three days of being missing allowed him, Erica, and Boyd to be rescued. 

~~~

Stiles climbed the stairs to the loft slowly. He wasn’t proud of himself for bugging off after Jackson had come back to life, but he’d needed some time. Living both one of his greatest wishes (being the hero of a lacrosse game) and one of his deepest nightmares (being tortured for hours without reprieve), _both on the same day_ , had really messed with his priorities. 

He pulled a Buffy and vanished for the summer, and though he knew his pack mates were going to be angry with him, he didn’t regret it a bit.

The loft wasn’t his first stop, of course. He’d gone to the station to see his dad first, who’d pulled him into a suffocating hug then promptly yelled at him for five minutes straight for being the cause of so much worry. Stiles was sure that he hadn’t helped his situation by being utterly unrepentant about his summer adventure, but needs must. Some day he’d sit his dad down and tell him all about the functional purpose of the road trip, but that wasn’t today. His dad was blissfully ignorant of the darker forces that haunted Beacon Hills, and though Stiles knew it wouldn’t last, he was grateful for however long it laster.

Voices drifted down to him as he stopped in front of Derek’s door, and a smile crept onto his face as he hear Scott and Allison laughing, Erica and Isaac bickering, and Boyd and Derek speaking in low tones. Sounded like they’d really bonded over the summer.

Stiles’ knock, of course, cut them all off, and he didn’t wait for someone to open the door for him. He pulled the door aside and stepped through, grinning at the shocked faces that stared back at him.

“Honey, I’m home.”

Scott, of course, was the first one to greet him. He bounded across the nearly-bare loft to Stiles and scooped him up in a hug even more crushing than Stiles’ father’s. The others weren’t far behind.

“Wow, hey, oxygen becoming an issue!” Stiles huffed, laughing as he slowly extricated himself from the pack. Well, the pack minus two - Derek and Boyd, who hung back and watched blankly as everyone else petted and fondled and smacked Stiles.

“Where the hell have you been?’

“Texts are great, but not a single phone call? Seriously?”

“You look different! What happened to you?”

“Where have you been?”

Stiles laughed again as Eric dragged him to the couch.

“I followed a trail of message board discussions that led me to the people I was looking for. A couple of famous hunters named Sam and Dean,” Stiles started to explain.

“Hunters?” Derek asked, speaking up for the first time, glaring at Stiles.

“Not like the Argents,” Stiles explained, and Allison smacked his shoulder with a playful frown.

“Hey!” she objected.

“No, seriously,” Stiles said. “Werewolves are barely on their radar. They’re mostly ghost, demon, icky-things-that-bump-in-the-night hunters. I tracked them down because I needed to get a better idea of what I could expect in this stupid town, and ended up road tripping with them for a few months. Learned a lot. Including the sordid history of this town.” He gave Derek a look, remembering Bobby’s tale about Paige, but held his tongue for now.

“Really? I think it’s storytelling time, Stiles,” Scott encouraged.

~~~

It took hours, several two-liters of Mountain dew, and two boxes of microwave popcorn, but Stiles made his way through eighty percent of what he’d seen and learned, during his summer with the Winchesters. He, of course, left some of it out - especially the parts about him finally losing his virginity to Sam and Dean, who definitely knew how to share. Winchester sandwiches were probably what Stiles was going to miss most about his time away from Beacon Hills. Because it definitely wasn’t the blood.

Tired and satisfied, the pack trickled out one by one until only Derek and Stiles were left in the living room.

“You smell different. Gunpowder and healing scars and exhaust fumes,” Derek said, wrinkling his nose.

“If that’s all, consider yourself lucky,” Stiles retorted, getting up from the couch to stand next to where Derek was still leaning by the wall.

“And ink,” Derek added quietly.

“Anti-possession tat,” Stiles offered, grinning. “I learned a lot, Derek. And not just about the supernatural.”

Derek reached out and brushed his hand over the fabric-covered mark. “Show me?”

“Hell yes.”

\---------------

41

**Notes: Set between the end of season 2 and the first couple of episodes of 3a. Rather than Cora being in the bank vault with Boyd, Erica is.**

It’s dark in the vault. Erica can barely make out the edges of the room. She finds her way around by touch, mainly, and the scrape of her bare feet on the broken floor. There’s a musty smell to the room, something that reminds her of wet hair and burning dust. Her toes hit something soft, and she trips, tumbling to the ground. There’s a quiet groan behind her, familiar and unwelcome.

That’s how she finds Boyd.

*****

Whoever’s holding them isn’t big on food. They’re given a fast food hamburger every once and a while, tepid water in crinkled plastic bottles rolled to them from the massive door of the vault. Boyd insists she eat her fill, makes her take the first bites and sips. Erica pretends to be full long before the gnawing ache in her gut settles, forces Boyd to eat the rest. They’re both barely scraping by, but as their bodies weaken, their resolves strengthens. Anger is a banked fire in her belly, the only source of warmth besides the breadth of Boyd’s back against hers when they fight to sleep at night.

 _It’s just a matter of time_ she thinks.

*****

His hands are warm against her skin, fingers calloused and familiar. She groans into his touch, body arching up against his. She finds his mouth in the dark, holds his head steady between her palms and pulls him closer. He presses in, wraps his arms around her until there’s no space between them. She lets her hands drift, tracing the hard curves of his muscles - just a little smaller, just a little less - and fists his worn shirt in her hands. He groans, starts pressing fevered kisses to her face and neck.

“It was going to be different,” he says, whispering it into the hollow of her throat, kissing a burning line up her jaw. “I was going to take you to dinner, there were going to be flowers-”

She cuts him off with a kiss, then fumbles with his belt, fighting to get it open.

“Don’t care,” she says, the buckle sliding free. “As long as it’s you.”

*****  
The longer they go without shifting, the harder it is for Erica to keep a hold on her humanity. She starts fighting with Boyd, the two of them snapping at each other with blunt human teeth, growls escaping from their throats in thin imitation of their shifted voices. She draws blood one night, and he throws her across the room. There’s a snap, and it’s hard to breathe. It heals, slowly, but they’re wary around each other after that.

They still lie close together at night, pack overriding any other instincts that may be bubbling up.

*****

When Derek opens the door, she hardly recognizes him. She just smells fresh air and freedom, and before he can do anything, she’s pushed her way past, forced her way into the open lobby of the bank. The ground tears her feet, leaving blood, wet and red, on the white floor behind her.

She doesn’t care. She raises her voice to the sky, feels her bones shift under her skin as the wolf breaks free, and runs, her mate by her side.

Ready to hunt.

\---------------

42

 **Notes:** Takes place a few months before the beginning of Season One.

They’re always so careful. You have to be when you’re fucking your brother. But in the heat of the moment, a bottle of Cutty Sark split between them and a full moon clouding their judgements - Derek knots Laura raw on the dirty, muddy leaves in the park behind their NYC apartment. 

When he pulls out, her thighs and cunt are dripping with his come. He can’t take it back, so he gets on all fours behind her and tries to suck it all out of her. 

_Bad idea._

It just gets her turned on more. 

“Fuck, Der,” She hisses at him.

She turns around, pushes him flat on his back and mounts his cock again. Rides his dick wet and messy, slapping him around when tries to grip onto her too tight. She’s still his alpha. He may have the cock in this equation, but it’s clear who’s the bottom of this relationship. 

She bends down, kissing the come from his lips as she rides him hard. He tastes salty from his own come and a little sweet from when he ate her out earlier. She bends forward, guiding her nipple into his mouth.

“Suck it,” she orders. He obliges, latching on with a hard suck and little bit of teeth. “Just like that little brother, just how I like it.” 

At that angle, Derek gets unspoken permission to fuck into his sister. He bends his knees and plants his bare feet down into the wet ground, starts fucking her in earnest. 

“Shit, that feels so goddamned good. You’re fucking me _so_ good, Derek.”

Laura takes his idle hand and leads his fingers to her face. She sucks two of his fingers into her mouth, gets them nice and wet, and then guides his fingers in-between her asscheeks. 

“Finger me while you fuck me, baby brother,” she commands. She’s so bossy. And she knows he loves it. 

They fuck like that for what seems like an eternity. Derek’s close. She can tell by his rapid heartbeat, the struggle on his face, the familiar sounds he makes when he’s about to go off. 

The city is loud, never sleeps. Laura blocks it all out, focuses in on the close sounds enveloping her - the squelching of the wet ground, the slapping of their skin together and Derek’s breathy panting as he rides out his second orgasm of the night. 

She stays seated on his spent cock while Derek catches his breath. His whole body is limp like a noodle.

Laura can feel his come dripping out of her again. Secretly, it’s a sensation she likes more than she should. 

“I guess we didn’t learn our lesson the first time,” she says as she climbs off his cock. He didn’t knot this time, so it’s not as much come as before, but it’s still a lot. 

Laura crawls up Derek’s body, smearing a trail of jizz along his chest and neck. She plants herself on his face so he can finish her off with his tongue. Her clit is swollen and sensitive, so Derek sucks on it until she paints his chin and face with her release. 

“Such a good little beta,” Laura praises. _Derek preens._

“I aim to please,” he says, with that ridiculously toothy smile he has. 

They dress in silence and make the trek back to their apartment, full moon illuminating their walk. The buzz has worn off, and Laura contemplates doing something about their little unprotected accident, perhaps going to the pharmacy in the morning. But at the same time, she loves the roulette, as well. Thoughts about expanding their pack of two in the back of her mind.

\- 

Death and fibonacci spirals on dead things are calling Laura back to Beacon Hills. She’s been under the weather, and her body is changing. Not enough for Derek to notice, but she does. Everything feels more sensitive. Smells more pungent. Tastes more heady. 

It’s faint, but Laura hears the tiniest pitter patter in the pit of her stomach. It’s barely there, but it anchors her, knowing what she must do. 

She packs a bag, gives Derek a filthy kiss goodbye and gets in her Camaro with Beacon Hills in her sights…

\---------------

43

**Notes: _What if the Sheriff was the parent that Stiles lost and his mother never got sick?_ This is based pretty much at the beginning season 1.**

Stiles’ mother walked over to him the second he came through the door. “Where have you been? I’ve told you a million times to call me if you’re going to be late, I was worried sick.”

“Sorry, mom.” Stiles muttered. In his defense, his world just got turned upside down. Scott is a _werewolf. A freaking werewolf!_

“Where were you? And where’s Scott? If you were out I know he was with you. He really shouldn’t stay out late, his mother worries enough as it is.”

Stiles bit his lip and wondered if he should tell his mother what happened last night. Would she think he was losing it? Stiles shook the thought away. No way, Claudia Stilinski has always had an open mind for weird shit. 

Last week she scolded a woman for making fun of a guy that swears he was abducted by aliens. _The universe is too big for us to be alone, honey. Besides, you should never be rude to someone who hasn’t done any harm to anyone._

Stiles took a deep breath and asked, “Mom, do you believe in werewolves?”

His mother raised an eyebrow. “Werewolf like the medical condition, the mental condition or the mythical creature?”

“Mythical creature.”

She crossed her arms over her chest and put on what Stiles called her _thinking face_. It involved a lot of lip biting and self-mumbling. 

“Yes.”

Stiles just blinked at his mother, he didn’t expect a definitive answer. “You do?”

She shrugged. “Well sweetie, there’s werewolf lore in hundreds of cultures so I assume it all came from some basic truth. So, what do werewolves have to do with _you_ breaking curfew?”

After a four-hour conversation and a pint of Ben and Jerry’s, his mother had heard the whole story.

“ _Werewolves_.” She said for the hundredth time with the same tone of amazement.

“Yup.” He popped the ‘p’.

“Wow, sorry it’s just that… Scott? Really? He’s like the least aggressive teenager in California.”

Stiles let out a bark of laughter. “You’d be surprised.”

Stiles looked over at the wall of family pictures in the living room. “Do you think he would’ve believed me?”

Stiles look at the framed picture of his father and a young Stiles. It was his 6th birthday and they went to a Mets game, Stiles was showing off they fly ball his father had caught.

His mom gave him a sad smile. “Knowing your dad, he would’ve needed proof and then some but he would’ve believed you. He was a hell of a cop too, so werewolves in Beacon Hills? Yeah, he would’ve found out somehow. It was impossible to keep a secret from John. He would always just _know_ when you weren’t telling him something. Birthday surprises were hell.” They both snorted at that.

They both fell silent for a while and then his mother scooped the rest of the ice cream into a bowl. 

“Now, the important part! Tell me about the hot wolf, the one with the _hypnotizing eyes_.” She wiggled her eyebrows suggestively and Stiles smacked his head on the table four times while his mother cackled over his embarrassment. 

_____________

“ _Hypnotizing eyes_?” Derek asked dryly. “Really?”

“Shut up, I was 17 and you were the hottest person I’d ever met.” They’d just gotten back from dinner with his mother. Where she’d insisted on telling the story of when Stiles told her about Derek for the first time. 

“ _Was?_ ” He smirked and picked Stiles up by his hips and slammed him against the door. Derek began to gyrate his hips, grinding perfectly into Stiles, while sucking a tender spot on his throat and Stiles thinks his brain just short-circuited. 

Stiles swallowed back a moan and buried his hand in Derek’s hair. “Still are.”

“Damn right.” His eyes flashed electric blue and that made Stiles dick so hard that his jeans felt painfully tight.

“Bed. NOW.”

“No.” _No!?_ Stiles opened his mouth to argue that Derek needs to get _inside_ him, _pronto_ , but he shut his mouth when Derek ripped the back of his jeans with his claws while still holding Stiles up.

He felt cool air against his bottom and Stiles let out a loud cry when Derek tapped and twisted the plug he had in him for the past three hours.

“Mine.” Derek growled and carefully pulled out the plug and replaced it with his dick.

“Yours.” He breathed.  
_____________

Stiles would always be grateful that his mother convinced him to ask Derek out.

 

44

 **Notes:** Literally everybody lives.

Stiles is eight when he meets the Hales.

His mom is sick and his daddy cries a lot when she's in the hospital even though he thinks Stiles can't hear him, and he doesn't understand why they're there but Mrs. Hale has a nice smile and gives him a cookie so he thinks it might be okay.

Stiles is eight when he meets the Hales and finds out werewolves are real.

*

His mom's eyes glow yellow sometimes and Stiles can't get away with _anything_ but he doesn't really mind. She isn't sick anymore and that's all that matters to him.

*

He's allowed to tell Scott –and _only_ Scott – but he and his dad have to go to the Hales' with his mom once a month for the full moon. It's not too bad; Cora is fun and Laura sneaks them popsicles.

Derek is annoying, though.

*

"Ugh, I hate you," Stiles says, scowling down at where his ice cream cone is now upside down in the dirt.

Derek frowns. "I said I was sorry."

"Whatever," Stiles mutters, and stomps off.

*

When he's ten he's finally allowed to start bringing Scott to the monthly get-togethers. Scott doesn't think Derek is annoying, and Stiles feels utterly betrayed.

*

"I seriously hate you."

Derek rolls his eyes. "It's just a movie, brat. You can pick next time."

Stiles scowls and curls up in the corner of the couch, surrounded by the rest of the pack, and refuses to admit how much he ends up liking it.

*

Stiles is twelve when Derek leaves for college and doesn't bother to say goodbye.

He locks himself in his room for three days.

*

Derek comes back when Stiles is sixteen, with a bachelor's degree and the sexiest scruff Stiles has ever seen.

He punches him in the jaw and ignores the pain that shoots through his hand. "I fucking hate you, you asshole."

Derek just blinks at him, looking shocked.

*

Stiles is eighteen when Derek kisses him in the woods behind the Hale house, fierce and claiming, right in the middle of an argument.

*

"I hate you, I hate you so much," Stiles gasps, clawing desperately at Derek's back. His dick is so hard, aching as he ruts it against Derek's.

"Lie." Derek mouths at his throat, sucking a mark in exactly the right spot, making Stiles' hips stutter. 

Stiles moans, throwing his head back, spreading his legs wider as Derek slides lube-slick fingers down between them. "Stupid werewolf hearing."

Derek smirks against Stiles' collarbone and slowly pushes a finger into Stiles' hole.

By the time Derek has three fingers fucking into him Stiles is a sobbing, writhing mess. Derek just stares down at him, wide-eyed and awed, lips parted and breath ragged. "So beautiful," he murmurs, kissing along Stiles' jaw.

Stiles closes his eyes against the sudden sting in them. "Please," he begs, fingers twisting in the sheets. "Derek, _please_ , I need –"

Derek makes a noise low in his throat, hoarse and broken, and pulls back to flip Stiles onto his stomach. He glances over his shoulder, Derek leaning down to mouth at the back of his neck, his dick sliding slick against Stiles' hole.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck," Derek breathes, splitting Stiles wide open as he finally breaches him.

Stiles whimpers and buries his face in his pillow, body trembling as Derek fills him up. When he's balls deep he pauses, reaching to tangle their fingers together.

"You okay?" Derek asks quietly, nuzzling at Stiles' ear. 

Stiles breathes, and breathes. "Yeah," he says, tightening his grip on Derek's hand. "Just don't stop."

Derek rolls his hips, slow at first and then faster, pumping his hard dick into Stiles' ass. It's so fucking good, Stiles' hole stretched wide, Derek's hand still entwined with his.

Stiles comes and his whole body goes stiff as he cries out, dick pulsing almost painfully. Derek keeps pounding into him, tiny little noises breathed out against Stiles' skin, until Stiles is loose and pliant under him. When Derek finally comes he buries his face against the back of Stiles' neck and whines, loud and low and drawn out, filling Stiles with his hot release.

They stay like that until they have to move, Derek rolling to the side and Stiles reaching for a discarded t-shirt to clean up.

"I guess you don't really hate me," Derek says, grinning.

Stiles glares and Derek laughs, pulling him closer to kiss him deeply.

 

45

“I'm the one keeping you alive. Have you noticed that?”

“Yeah and when the paralysis wears off? Who's going to be able to fight that thing? You or me?”

“That’s why I've been holding you up for the past two hours.”

“Yeah, you don’t trust me and I don’t trust you. You need me to survive which is why your not letting me go.”

* * *

“It’s not right. It’s like a…”

“An abomination.”

* * *

Stiles is shucking off his wet clothes when his window opens. He looks up startled as he see Derek slip through and step into the room.

“What do you want?” Stiles says in an tired voice not really caring if there’s an answer, “It’s been a long night and I really just want to go to sleep.”

Derek just kind of stands there for a minute. Looking unsure of what to do next, “I wanted to apologise. For earlier” he says as he stares at his feet.

Stiles looks at him sceptically, “Really, after all that?”

“Look, I know you didn't have to do that. I realize that now. I just wanted to...I just wanted to say thank you,” Derek stares resolutely at the far wall not making eye contact with Stiles at all.

Stiles looks at him for a second and then rubs his hands through his hair, “ Ah, okay, well then, you’re welcome,” he sits down on the bed. “I'm pretty sure I'm going to fall over if I don’t crash soon so I think I'm going to lie down.” 

“Um, yeah okay, I’ll be on my way.” Derek moves to go back out the window.

“Wait,” Stiles wearily drags himself up from the bed. “Where are you staying tonight? Still in that decrepit train depot?”

“Yeah,” Derek eyes him warily.

“Look I know I'm going to regret this but you can crash here tonight.” Stiles sits back down on the bed and points to the other side, “As much time as we spent cuddled together today I don’t think another few hours would bother either of us.”

Derek takes a minute and just stands there finally he sighs and pulls off his jacket, “A real bed does sound good,”

Stiles lies down on the bed and watches as Derek pulls off his shirt and shucks his jeans. He walks over to the other side of the bed with just his tight black underwear on and lies down. 

“Good night Stiles,” Derek whispers as he settles onto the bed.

“Good night Derek.”

* * *

It’s the middle of the night when Stiles wakes up completely overheated and disoriented. He looks down and see an arm slung around his middle and feels a body plastered to his back. It take a few seconds for him to realize that Derek is snuggling him. 

Stiles starts to try and wiggle his way out of Derek’s arms but Derek is having none of it and pulls him in closer as he continues to sleep. 

“Just my luck, I get the clingy werewolf cuddler.” Stiles whispers as he tries wiggling out of Derek’s grip again, “Derek, wake up. I'm not your pooh bear. Let me go.”

Derek just hold on to him. His hand moving lower on Stiles stomach. “whoa there big guy, moving a little south there. Not that I'm averse to it but I’d like a little warning first.” 

Derek’s hand continues to move lower till it’s touching the tip of Stiles cock through his shorts, Stiles squawks,“Derek! I really want you to wake up now!”

“Shh,” Derek whisper as he kisses Stiles neck, “tell me if you don’t want to?”

Stiles takes a deep breath and pushes against Derek’s hand, “I want.” 

Derek’s hand is hot and heavy as he pushes it inside Stiles shorts and wraps it around his cock. Stiles grunts as he feels Derek plays with the tip and spread pre-cum around smoothing the way. 

It only takes a few good strokes before Stiles is coming messily in his hand. 

Stiles goes lax in his arms,it takes him a few minutes to realize he hasn't done anything for Derek. he goes to turn over.

Derek stops him and pulls him back against his chest, “It’s al-right, you don’t need to.”

“But..”

“Shh, it’s all good,” Derek brushes his lips against Stiles hair and holds him tight. 

Stiles settles against him and falls asleep.

* * *

Stiles wakes up the next morning alone. He turns over in the bed and smiles to himself. 

\---------------

46

 **Notes:** Set in a universe where Peter died in the fire, and Derek and Laura went to New York but never came back to Beacon Hills

She's going to be moving in a few weeks and it feels like something crazy. Coast to coast matters so much more than when they moved from one school district to the next because it's going to mean leaving everyone and everything behind. It'll be a new start, she convinces herself, so she decides to leave on a wild note.

There's a guy who works in one of the crazy record shops half-hidden on a one-way street that she's been eyeing up for ages even though she's 16 and he's probably twice her age, but it doesn't keep her from wanting to know how the black coffee he always drinks tastes secondhand from his mouth. He's all stubble around a cautious smile and broad shoulders in a leather jacket and she loves the way her name rolls off his tongue when he calls her about her special orders. She loves the way their names sound together: Derek and Kira. It's a crush, she knows, but a part of her wants to be that girl going from New York to California who knows all about the world around her.

It's not that difficult to get his attention, really. She wears a Rolling Stones t-shirt one day, a vintage one, and it's falling apart at the seams so she wears a red lace bra and panties and matches her lipstick to the color and goes in to ask him about a Beatles record, so sure of herself. His eyes catch on the hole under her arm and the flash of red there and then he looks her over as his brow furrows and he shrugs off his jacket. "You're a fox."

She grins and nods a little, hoping he's like so many other people who can't tell how old she is. "I was hoping you'd want to do something after work. Like, maybe me?" At this point, if he says no, well... She's leaving.

It surprises her, though, when he stalks over to the front door and locks it, turning the sign to _CLOSED_ and stalking back to her and claiming her mouth as he pushes her back against the shelving holding up the selection of 70s hippie crap with a layer of dust on it that makes her sneeze mid-kiss and laugh. The kissing is nothing new, she's not a total virgin, but the feel of his fingers on her hips and pushing up her skirt and pulling down her panties makes it feel like she's on fire. His fingernails feel sharp against her thighs as he strokes his palm across her slit and presses the heel of his hand against her clit. "I want more than that, Wolfman," she mumbles, because his expression and demeanor remind her too much of a silly movie even in that moment. She has a condom tucked in her bra just in case this went well and she pulls her shirt up to show it off, looking at him expectantly.

He growls and uses his teeth to pull it away from her skin and she's sure she's wetter now than ever before. She reminds herself that virginity is a social construct and that she's nearly had her hand shoved inside her before so this shouldn't have any lasting effect on her. That is, until he's pulled his pants down to his thighs and slid on the condom and paused with the head of his cock throbbing so hot against her vulva. "Ready?"

She laughs, breathy and too excited, and nods, spreading her legs and feeling him press into her. It's more amazing than she'd imagined, his fingers everywhere she needs them to augment what his dick is doing to her, and it lasts long enough for her to feel like it was a perfect first time. Her knees shake when he lowers her down and pulls out, tugging off the condom and knotting the end. "That was fun," she says, smiling as she notices a smudge of her lipstick on his teeth.

"We should do it again sometime," he says, but he's cautious with the emotion behind the words.

"I'm about to move," she says, fixing her skirt and panties. "Moving to some little town in California. From New York to Beacon Hills. I... needed something exciting before I went."

His eyes go wide and they look bright blue for a second. "That's... where I'm from."

"Huh." She pulls her shirt back down and smiles. "I guess it can't be that boring, then."

\---------------

47

 **Notes:** What if Stiles accepted the bite from Peter but it was more than just a turning bite? AU from 1.12.

Stiles pretty much regrets it right away. The sanity it brings to Peter--he only kills Kate, after all, leaves Chris and Allison alive--and the orgasms lead to some semblance of acceptance of his new state.

That's probably due more to the orgasms, though, because Peter's mouth is incredible.

*****

On his stomach, legs spread, fingers clenched into the pillow, Stiles represses a howl of pleasure as Peter's tongue flicks around the rim of his sensitive hole for at least the twentieth time in the last ten minutes. Trapped beneath his stomach, his cock his hard and leaking and he squirms, gaining delicious friction.

A hand smacks down on one ass cheek and he yelps and bucks into the burst of pain.

It's not the first of those, either.

"Stay still," Peter murmurs, fingers with just a hint of claws digging into Stiles' hip to hold him in place as his tongue pushes past the tight anal muscles.

"Peter," Stiles gasps, shivering with need as he so wants to move, to push back, to come.

"Patience..."

"Not a virtue."

Peter snorts and the puff of air on his asshole sends a bolt of lust straight to Stiles' dick. God, he needs to come. It hardly takes any time at all anymore for Peter to get him to this place of shaky, desperate want.

Finally, when Stiles is a sweaty, gasping mess, Peter drags him to his knees and thrusts into him. There's lube on his dick, but only saliva inside Stiles and the push and pull of cock against tender tissues burns, but Stiles loves it. Free now to writhe and buck, he shoves his hips back, taking Peter all the way. His cock aches, tip wet against his belly, and he reaches down, grabs the base. He wants to come, but he knows it's so much better after a hard fucking.

Peter's all too willing to give that to him, pounding into him fast, slapping their slick bodies together. The claws are back, leaving little, bleeding holes on Stiles' hips that close almost immediately. Stiles' own fangs have dropped, but he knows better than to claw the Alpha wolf's expensive sheets, so only human fingers dig into them, give him purchase as they fuck at a wild pace.

As a human, Stiles never had sex, but as a wolf they can go for hours, through multiple orgasms. It's amazing, exhausting. In their bed, becoming a werewolf and Peter's mate is worth it. Outside of it is another story, but, on the verge of coming, Stiles can't think about that.

"Gonna come," he pants, fangs biting into his lower lip as his balls tighten and pre-cum slips down the shaft and over his fingers. "Harder, Peter."

"Bossy." Peter doesn't ever mind, though, giving Stiles free reign to say and do pretty much anything in bed--bottoming only, of course. "Come, then, I'll just keep fucking you to another hard-on."

The growled words send a bolt of lightning through Stiles and, shuddering, he jacks his dick roughly until his orgasm crashes through him. He yells, bucks wildly, and squeezes out every drop, spilling it all over his hand, his stomach, the tangled sheets.

As promised, Peter keeps fucking him through it until Stiles is moaning at the over sensitivity and his dick is hardening again. Strength returning, he fucks back and the bed bangs against the wall with the force, making his mate chuckle darkly, but not stop.

To think, all Stiles wanted was to become a werewolf so he could help Scott and Derek stop Peter.

Instead, the mating bite turned him and tied him to the Alpha and, as Stiles feels a second orgasm churning in his balls, he can't regret it.

Later, but not now.


	7. Group C (no warnings)

48

 **Notes:** Scott has an asthma attack on the day that would've set off his and Stiles' epic friendship. Stiles gets paired up with Vernon Boyd instead.

“Zd—Zdzis—Stilinski and Sco—” their teacher’s eyes flick to the empty seat at the front of the classroom and she redirects, “Vernon.”

Stiles fidgets, turning around to look at a boy in the back he’s never noticed before. He waves and the boy just tucks his shoulders in further.

-

Stiles walks over when she’s done with the partner assignments.

Dark eyes squint up at him. “Your name’s stupid,” he says moodily.

Stiles shrugs. “So’s yours.” He sits down at Vernon’s table. “My dad calls me ‘Stiles’ sometimes, like my last name—Stilinski.”

He seems to consider this. “Fine, then I’ll be Boyd.”

Stiles smiles at him. “I like it.”

Boyd’s expression gets a little less grudging and he nods.

-

Boyd’s bad at sharing. Stiles hops to his feet, fed up, and demands, “Why can’t I play with anything?”

Boyd stands up, gets in his face. “Because you’ll leave and I’ll never get it back.”

Stiles stares at him, flops back down, mumbles, “I’m not gonna leave,” and Boyd hands over his Captain Planet.

-

He and Boyd outrun the evil dog a block away from Stiles’ house. They tear all the way up the stairs, slam Stiles’ door closed and collapse on the floor of his room.

“You’re a fast runner,” Stiles says.

“Faster than you,” Boyd throws back but he’s grinning.

-

Boyd and Stiles are playing on the playground, building sandcastles and moats and pretending Skeletor’s a dragon, when Boyd narrows his eyes at Stiles and says, “Teach me how to pronounce your first name.”

Stiles blinks at him but does what Boyd asks— _commands_. “Zdzisław,” he says, slow as he can.

It takes all day but when Boyd holds out his hand to walk Stiles home, he says, “Come on, Zdzisław,” with perfect pronunciation.

-

Boyd gets weird about middle school. Weird about Stiles becoming friends with Scott McCall. He keeps looking at Stiles like he expects it’ll be the last time he ever sees him. Which is stupid. They get into a raging fight about it that mirrors the one they had when they were six, only with swear words thrown in.

It ends in the same place as the last one though.

-

They sneak into an R-rated horror movie when they’re thirteen. Stiles has nightmares for a week. Boyd pretends he doesn’t but he slips in through Stiles’ bedroom window with alarming regularity over the next few days.

Stiles doesn’t call him on it, just scoots over and lets Boyd faceplant into his pillow.

-

If Boyd was weird about middle school, then high school is a thousand times worse. “This is when it happens,” he says, eyes hooded as he stares down at his tray in the lunchroom.

Stiles scoffs to cover how badly the words hurt. He waits until Scott leaves to drool after the new girl to say, “I don’t deserve that. I’ve never done anything to make you think I’ll abandon you.”

They sit in tense silence until the bell rings.

-

Boyd comes through his window when they’re sixteen with a pack of cigarettes he’s stolen from his mom. It’s stupid, smoking in the sheriff’s house, but Stiles does it anyway because Boyd wants to.

They sit on his bed by the open window and light up. It makes Stiles’ eyes water, his throat scratchy. He doesn’t like it but he also doesn’t want to seem lame. Boyd stubs his on the windowsill and tosses it out, only halfway gone. Stiles breathes a sigh of relief and does the same.

Boyd drums at his knees, darts a glance at him and then lunges forward, messily captures his mouth. Their lips smush together clumsily and Stiles pulls back, fixes the slot of them and then Boyd is pushing him down on the bed, frenetic and anxious. Stiles wishes neither of them tasted like smoke.

Boyd touches Stiles’ dick through his pants and Stiles’ hips twitch up automatically, find Boyd’s. They rut together for half a second before they’re both coming in their jeans. It’s weird, doing this with his best friend, but not any weirder than Scott being a werewolf. Boyd’s panting on top of him. He rubs his nose against Stiles’ cheek, lips on his ear, says shakily, “I love you, Zdzisław.”

His eyes widen in an instant and he’s scrambling back, looking to the window. Stiles grabs onto him before he can bolt. He kisses Boyd’s neck, right under his ear, whispers, “Still not leaving, Vernon.”

\-------------------------

49

 **Notes:** Stiles accepts the bite from Peter

Derek can hear Stiles' heartbeat about a mile before he actually comes up the rotting stairs into the house. 

He frowns. 

There's something off. Something _not_ Stiles. 

“What did you do?” Derek growls.

Stiles stares at him. He's still in a way that Stiles is never still. It makes Derek nervous.

“I did what any smart person would do.” Stiles lifts his chin, meets Derek's eyes defiantly. Always defiantly.

Just then, Stiles' scent hits Derek. This weird combination of spice and sweat and Stiles and yet...

“What have you done?” Derek breathes. He knows though. Before Stiles says another word, he knows.

“Peter says hi,” Stiles smiles at him. Waits as if for praise.

Derek feels everything inside him freeze. He grabs Stiles, rips up his shirt to expose his hip, but no bite. He wants to breathe a sigh of relief but he knows.

He knows.

“Here,” Stiles offers his wrist, palm turned up. 

Derek wants to howl. The bite is already yellowing at the edges, teeth marks fading as he watches.

“Why?” He needs Stiles to tell him. To make him understand.

“Peter says I’ll make an excellent wolf.” Stiles watches Derek, amber gold eyes gleaming.

“You said you didn’t want to be like Scott.” Derek is holding onto hope like a tangible thing.

“I’ll _never_ be like Scott.” Stiles stares at him. 

“Then why?” Derek’s fingers tighten around Stiles’ wrist. He doesn’t miss the sudden sharp breath Stiles takes.

“You.” Stiles’ mouth curves in a smile. “I did it for you.”

Derek feels his heart punch in his chest. Too much. Too much. “No.” He’s sure.

“Yes.” Stiles is even more sure. “You wouldn’t touch the human. Not after Kate.” He steps closer, scent wrapping around Derek like a wolf’s pelt. “But you _will_ touch the wolf.”

Derek swallows hard. Stiles has always been desirable. Stiles with his pale skin, lush mouth and long neck has been a part of Derek’s dreams for months now. 

“You were never meant for this life,” he whispers, feeling a little like shattered glass.

“Maybe not.” Stiles shrugs. He’s pressed up tight against Derek now, the wolf already bringing his body temperature up to scalding. “But I think I was always meant for you.”

Derek will worry about the morality of this later, once he’s slaked his thirst for this beautiful boy.

For now though, he leans in, takes Stiles’ mouth in a kiss just the wrong side of painful.

Stiles opens up, lets him in and Derek is lost.

When he rips Stiles’ shirts from his shoulders, Derek wonders if his uncle intended this. Peter had always looked at Stiles with a little too much…everything.

Stiles is almost silent as he wrestles with Derek’s jeans. The quick pants that escape him are aphrodisiacs to Derek’s ears. The knowledge that Stiles wants him, enough to become something he purports to hate, is overwhelming.

“Stop.” It physically pains Derek to give the order.

Stiles growls at him and Derek shudders. “Why?” It’s Stiles’ turn to ask.

“I want you to be sure.” Derek knows that wolves mate for life. . He knows that if he takes Stiles now, it will be forever.

Stiles snorts. “Dude, I took the bite from asshole Uncle Peter so that I could be with you. I think I’m pretty fucking sure.”

Derek pushes Stiles to the ground then, lost to the animal that shares his body. He shreds Stiles’ jeans and shoves into him with no warning. The high yip of pain makes him freeze. “Oh god.” He feels sick.

Stiles’ fingers yank at his hair. “Don’t you _dare_ stop, you dick.” Stiles’ eyes are clear and determined. “I need to feel you inside me for days.”

He knows that he isn’t going to let anything take Stiles away. He’ll kill before that happens. He hardens inside Stiles until he feels his knot swell.

It’s then that he knows.

He’s born to be the alpha. Stiles, his mate.

“I’m going to have to kill Peter,” he murmurs against the gorgeous line of Stiles’ neck.

“Okay,” Stiles clenches around him, arms and legs and body holding him in a vice of flesh. “I’ll help.”

\-------------------------

50

“You can’t be serious,” says Stiles, staring at Derek and then points to the window. “You can backspace out of my room now.”

Derek frowns at him. “Of course I’m being serious, Stiles! How can you not take your own safety seriously? The fact that Scott hasn’t proposed the idea worries me.” Stiles rubs the back of his neck, uncomfortably. “You’ve already asked him yourself,” Derek presumes.

“Not so much as asked, but,” he winces, “I may have threw the idea right out there in his face with massive amounts of spazzing. If he’s clueless I’m not going to grovel and beg he sleeps with me.”

The werewolf sighs audibly. “Are you-- Do you have a backup plan?” His expression looks like he swallowed lemons.

“Not exactly….?”

“Then I will--”

Stiles starts up again. “Dude, no. I already told you to leave!” He’s angry, and he can tell Derek’s getting angry, too. Stiles can read him so clearly now, its embarrassing. 

“I won’t leave you here waiting to become a sacrifice!”

“I won’t use you that way!”

“You’re not _using_ me, Stiles!”

“I am when you’re not giving yourself a choice!”

“I chose to be here for you!”

“Because you’re taking one for the team! I won’t have you that way, Derek, you have to know that…” Stiles swallows with a dry mouth, heart hammering. Its not like he didn’t mean to say it like that, but its the first time he’s brought it out to the open when the two of them have been studiously ignoring it, how Stiles feels. Derek pauses, his mouth frozen open before the thought process kicks in and he looks confused.

“I have to know what?” Derek asks slowly, which makes Stiles nervous because that means he’s thinking. He’s putting the pieces together.

“I…” he stammers, but he doesn’t want to say it again.

Derek, bless him, tries another approach. “Which way would you have me Stiles?” His tone is sultry, eyes becoming intense and dark as he looks at Stiles with something more than having a chore. He’s looking at Stiles like he’s something he wants to devour, which breaks Stiles down into shivers and blushing cheeks, and it loosens his words.

“All the ways,” he says, and can’t stop. “I want you in my bed for days. I- I want to touch you, for you to touch me, to feel you against my skin. I want to _grind_ against you Derek, I will pull your hair and I want you to pull mine, and when you finger me I will probably come immediately, but I’m sure I could get it up again when you’re inside, fucking me, _fucking--- fuck!_ ” He’s hard, thinking about his fantasies, talking about it to the one he fantasizes about, of course he’s hard. Stiles shamelessly cups himself, stares at Derek who stares back hungrily.

“I can’t believe you’re asking me after how close we got during the summer,” Stiles groans. “You couldn’t smell me? Every time you took off your shirt, I got hard because fuck, look at you.”

Derek, eyes alternating between Stiles’ hand and his mouth, hooks his fingers under the hem of his shirt and pulls it over his head. Stiles groans, because yes, this was happening--- unless--

“Wait,” Stiles puts his hand out, yet the other is still slowly grinding against his dick. “This isn’t, for you, this isn’t just…?”

“No, Stiles,” Derek rolls his eyes as he looms forward, takes Stiles’ hand off himself to replace it with his own. Stiles moan and practically falls into Derek’s chest because, wow, its so much better with two. “This isn’t just,” he teases. “I thought the smell of you over the summer was just general. You always smell like that, like sugar and horny teenager.”

“W-well yeah.”

Derek’s chest rumbles with a low-vibrating laugh. “I’ve thought about you, you know. About fucking you or you riding me, or me riding you.” Stiles gasps, hips bucking into Derek’s hand, and he can hear Derek’s smirk when he continues, “You want that? Me bouncing on your cock, taking you so deep?”

“Yes, yes….”

“Want to start with that?”

Stiles reaches up behind Derek’s neck and pulls him down for a brutal kiss, curling his fingers tightly in the small hairs.

\-------------------------

51

 **Notes:** The Kanima situation was resolved a lot faster in season 2. 

_“He has **nobody**!”_

_“That’s his own fault.”_

Scott and Allison were long gone by the time Jackson finally managed to get a hold of himself. The scales on his hands already faded into his skin as if they were never there. His ears rang from the way their shitty music and shittier conversation would change volume from a bare whisper to an overwhelming wall of sound. Only his sense of smell was even slightly consistent and all it picked up was the humiliating brine of his tears and the sharp cinnamon scent of Stiles in the air and on his skin. It was maybe the only thing distracting enough to keep him centered, to keep him from hurting himself in order to escape.

The door opened with a clang and he jerked as Stiles climbed in with spidery grace. A cheap pizza, and warm Gatorade on hand. He hated him.

“Food for the prisoner!” Stiles snarked and settled down across from him with a smirk. “I’d reward you for good behavior except that I don’t really care so...”

Jackson lunged halfheartedly in his general direction, hands flexing with the urge to strangle him, but was thwarted by the huge piece of cheesy pizza unceremoniously shoved into his mouth. He spat it out almost immediately and cursed, sauce flying everywhere. 

“Dude! Not cool!”

“Go fuck yourself Stilinski,” he snarled.

“Did that already today but thanks for looking out for me buddy, I appreciate it,” Stiles shot back easily as he bent down to pick up the mess. Jackson stiffened in surprise because he could smell the truth of it, could smell it on him, and it was shocking. The salt of his sweat and bitter-thick tang of cum so heavy in his nose he could taste it and his dick twitched jealously in sympathetic response. His own routine had been rudely interrupted by all the recent supernatural shenanigans and so-called kidnapping. 

“Seriously?!” Stiles squeaked and jumped back, surprised.

Jackson flushed, ashamed at his lack of control. Cruel and cutting remarks came to mind by the dozen but he was unable to voice a single one, transfixed by the pale flash of Stiles throat. Nothing was working the way it was supposed to. He could almost count the individual lashes framing Stiles eyes, could hear the scurrying of small animals in the trees above and around them, and yet he was also focused in a way that he’d never been before. For once since this mess started all of his senses were working together. There was a sound reverberating in the confines of the van, rabbit quick, and it was making his gums itch to hear it. A heartbeat.

Stiles mouth fell open on a silent “ _Oh_ ,” of understanding and Jackson watched, fascinated, as he shivered because of it. The idea that he maybe wasn’t as unaffected by the situation, or as well taken care of as he claimed to be, sent a bolt of heat down his spine. His legs fell open slowly, instinctively, and watched with predatory intensity as Stiles eyes followed the movement. His eyes noticeably dilated and cheeks tinged pink. The longer they stared at each other the more the air felt charged between them, as if waiting for something. It made the hairs on Jackson’s his arm stand up on end.

Abruptly Stiles moved to stand and his foot shot out to tangle in his legs, tripping him. He’d have fallen, would have hurt himself if Jackson hadn’t caught him, and the chains broke apart like wet paper with the strange and sudden burst of strength that gripped him just then. He thought Stiles would be afraid but whatever madness had possessed him seemed to be affecting him too. He just slid bonelessly into place, straddling Jacksons' lap and stared intently at him. He was hard, they both were, and yet… 

“This just got so much more complicated,” Stiles groaned when Jacksons' eyes glowed blue.

“Yeah,” He agreed, and kissed him. Strong, bruising kisses that quickly had them sloppily rocking together because it felt too good not to. Kissed until Stiles broke away panting to give these long, needy, open mouthed groans into his bare shoulder as Jackson writhed underneath his weight.

The cold, nameless something wasn’t slithering under his skin anymore. It was a living, breathing force. Powerful and demanding and now as much a part of him as anything else. Something warm and strong but still soft, like fur.

\-------------------------

52

Jackson's parents want to move out of Beacon Hills. More specifically, they want _him_ to move out of Beacon Hills.

"You've just had so much trouble this last year," his mom says anxiously, which is really code for "you've just been so much trouble", while his dad nods thoughtfully and doesn't say much of anything.

For a couple weeks, he even decides he _will_ move. He'll get a new start, pretend the entire shitty year just hadn't happened. He'll miss Lydia, of course, because he loves her, loves her so much that it hurts. But even when she's trying to hide it, he knows she wants more than he can give her. There's a hunger in her to be more than just the prettiest, most popular cheerleader.

She wants the world and he knows he'll never be able to give it to her. Might as well rip the band-aid off now.

Then he talks to Danny.

"Is this because of the werewolf thing? Because you might as well suck it up and join Scott's pack," Danny says. "What makes you so sure whatever's in London will be as nice as Scott?"

Jackson stares.

Danny sighs. "I know you don't like him, but he's not that bad. He's grown up a lot."

Jackson continues to stare.

"Besides, what about Lydia?"

"You know about werewolves?" Jackson hisses. He glances furtively at the bedroom door and gets up to close it. "How did you find out?" 

"Stiles and Scott talk about werewolf stuff all the time. How would I not know? Anyways, you don't have to leave, that's all I'm saying."

So he stays.

\--

Lydia turns out to know more about being a werewolf than he does. He ends up feeling stupid and jealous at how everyone else was told about werewolves before him, how all the losers got invitations while he practically had to beg.

"Shut up, Jackson. What do you expect when you're mean to them?" Lydia finally snaps when he complains to her about it one time too many, lying on his bed with his head in her lap. She pets his hair to take some of the sting out of her words. "It's fine. It happens. We don't have to be in Scott's pack anyways. You can be in my pack."

"Don't you mean you'll be in my pack?" Jackson teases. He rolls onto his stomach and buries his face in the folds of her skirt. "I thought you didn't want to be a werewolf."

"I asked Allison's dad. You don't have to be a werewolf to be in the pack. And sweetie, we both know who's the alpha here." She cups his face and pulls him up for a kiss. Her leg is silky-smooth under his fingertips as he pushes her skirt up around her waist.

He knows all the ways to make her breath catch and his name fall from her tongue. He teases her with his fingers on her clit and his mouth on her throat until she is slick with want. They fuck with their clothes still mostly on and after he spills inside her, he drops to his knees on the floor and licks the taste of himself back out of her as she moans encouragement.

He loves going down on her.

"Me, you, Allison, Danny," Lydia says afterwards, curled up against him. "That's four."

"Four what?" he asks drowsily.

"For our pack. Derek has four too. Hmm." Her fingernails tap against his chest. "We'll have to take Erica too."

\--

Eight weeks later, Jackson is second-in-command of the largest pack in Beacon Hills and Lydia wears a feral joy around herself that makes him think that maybe, when she eventually leaves to force the whole world to learn her name, she'll take him along too.

\-------------------------

53

 **Notes:** If Derek had been too late to protect Stiles from Peter in 1.09.

He was too late. 

On Derek's end of the phone all he could hear were growls and Stiles' frantic, terrified whimpers. Then a scream.

Then nothing.

Derek slammed his way through the doors of the care centre until he got to Peter's wing and stopped dead. 

Blood.

Everywhere. 

He followed his senses, his fangs and nails emerging without even thinking about them.

The blood trail ended at a curtain that had a bloody hand print smeared down it. Two sets of feet could be seen under.

Derek remembered tearing the curtain down with a roar that made even his ears ring and then nothing.

***

Derek heard of Chinese Water Torture but he didn't think it was anything like this.

"Nah, this is Stilinski Tapping Torture," Stiles said and Derek's eyes popped open as he realized a few things all at once.

One, he'd been asleep.

Two, he didn't know how he got to... where was he?

"It's my house," Stiles supplied.

Three, Stiles could read his mind.

"You're talking out loud, dumbass," Stiles said, rolling his eyes.

"Four, I thought you were dead," Derek said, finally realizing he was, indeed, speaking aloud.

"Close," Stiles replied.

"I wasn't in time," Derek continued. 

"Close," Stiles repeated in a whisper.

"Peter?"

"You killed him."

"I'm the alpha now," Derek said dully.

"Seems like. Got those neat red eyes now. Kinda hot," Stiles said lightly.

For an newly appointed alpha werewolf Derek was really slow because he looked down at himself and was surprised to find he was in Stiles' bed. 

With Stiles. 

And neither of them were wearing shirts. Maybe less?

"You've already pointed out that at least no shirts I own fit you to your liking and I wasn't going to see if any of my pants fit you so you're still wearing those," Stiles said with a shrug.

Something caught Derek's eye with that movement and he shoved Stiles over so he could see his back.

"Hey hey!"

"Shut up, Stiles," Derek growled and, huh. Stiles did.

A small speck of blood. Stiles smelled freshly washed but he missed some.

"Peter..." Derek trailed off hoarsely, unable to make himself say the words.

"Yeah," Stiles replied glumly.

"I'm sorry I couldn't stop him," Derek reached out and put his hand on Stiles shoulder. Stiles pushed into the feeling eagerly.

"I don't feel right," Stiles complained. "I know how Scott was feeling when Peter was calling for him but now he's gone so I don't know--"

"Your alpha is gone. You're lucky you turned but until you have an alpha you'll feel like something's missing," Derek explained.

 

"So do it," Stiles said, turning to face Derek on the bed.

"What?"

"You're the alpha, right? Be my alpha. You have to be, since I don't know any others. I don't like this feeling."

Derek shook his head. "Stiles--"

Stiles cut him off by rolling on top of Derek suddenly and pinning him to the mattress. Derek could easily shove him off and force him back but Stiles was warm and smelled amazing to him.

"Please," Stiles breathed, worried eyes searching for something akin in Derek's.

Derek didn't trust his voice so he nodded and wrapped one hand around the back of Stiles' neck. As he pulled him down he caught a waft of Peter still on Stiles and he shifted instantly in response. He needed to cover Stiles in himself, make him his.

Derek didn't give Stiles any warning before his fangs sank into Stiles' neck but Stiles barely shuddered, just sighed and sank into Derek's embrace. 

Derek was running on instinct, and knew somehow that this was all it took but he kept his mouth on Stiles' neck longer than necessary. Even once his fangs receded he licked and sucked at the marks, until Stiles hissed.

Stiles shifted his hips, drawing attention elsewhere, where Stiles was hard against him. Derek spread his legs so Stiles could lay between them and let him rut against his own hard cock, trapped in his jeans. Derek merely wrapped his arms around Stiles' back and murmured in his ear until Stiles stiffened and slumped.

"If that didn't feel so damn right I'd be really embarrassed right now," Stiles slurred, face smushed into Derek's chest.

"I understand," Derek said simply, basking in Stiles' contentment and how he made his beta feel that way.

"Give me a minute and I'll take care of you, too," Stiles continued, cupping Derek through his jeans. "My alpha."

\-------------------------

54

 **Notes:** Pre-Canon AU/Future!Fic. No Hale fire, Hale-Stilinski families friendship, Claudia offered the bite when she falls ill.

 

Stiles spun his chair around when the window slid open. He restrained himself for five seconds before launching himself across his bedroom to octopus his way into Derek's arms. Derek caught him -- he always did -- and muffled Stiles' laugh with a kiss.

"Shh. Your dad's downstairs."

"Watching the game," Stiles said in-between kisses. "Couldn't tear him away if the house were collapsing around him."

Derek dumped Stiles onto the twin bed, shrugging out of his leather jacket. Stiles made grabby hands, but Derek wasn't in any hurry to comply. Stiles' complaints died on his lips when Derek continued to strip -- his shirt landed on Stiles' desk chair, his boots on top of Stiles' dirty clothes pile, and his jeans --

The black jeans didn't make it much past Derek's hips when Stiles plunged his hands into the back of the boxers, gripping Derek's ass and pulling him forward.

"I'm going to blow you until you see stars," Stiles said, squirming down on the bed. "Or you're going to fuck my mouth until I come into my pants. Or both. I vote both."

" _Stiles_ ," Derek groaned. "I should come home more often."

"You come home every weekend," Stiles said, pausing to lick the length of Derek's cock. "But when you come home with a freshly-minted Master's degree --"

Stiles swallowed him down slowly, going deeper every time. He paused long enough to adjust himself in his jeans and took Derek in until his nose was pressed against his groin. Derek's arms trembled on either side of Stiles' head, keeping himself still until Stiles gave him the go-ahead.

Stiles tugged Derek's belt loops and met his eyes, savouring the fully-aroused flush on Derek's face and the dazed look in his eyes. Derek pulled out slowly, hesitantly, before thrusting in. Stiles closed his eyes, letting himself get lost in the feeling of Derek's cock on his tongue, splitting his mouth open. Derek's salty-musky taste, his weight, his warmth. Stiles could drown in all that and he would die happy.

He wasn't getting any friction on his cock, and it was suffocating in his too-tight jeans. It shouldn't turn him on this much, to be used like this, but it did, because it was _Derek_. It was Derek's little, bitten-off moans, trying to keep quiet even though Stiles' dad wouldn't hear them, that got him so hot he thought he'd explode.

Derek made a soft noise of warning. Stiles sucked harder and gripped Derek's ass to hold him deep when he came, swallowing every drop.

Stiles might've spilled some, but he couldn't remember. When Derek pulled out of Stiles' mouth and reached back to stroke his cock through his jeans, Stiles sort of whited-out for a while. 

Derek stretched out alongside him, lazily licking the come Stiles hadn't caught and simultaneously giving him beard-burn while scent-marking him. Stiles bared his throat, because he'd _missed_ this.

"One more summer," Stiles murmured happily.

Derek made a grumble of agreement.

Waiting three months before they moved in together -- Derek to do his PhD in mechanical engineering, Stiles to start his undergrad in criminal justice at Berkeley -- that was cruel and unusual punishment when neither of them had done anything wrong, but, _gah_. They'd promised their parents they'd wait until then before making their mating official, and Stiles was so regretting that now.

"I know," Derek said, kissing Stiles' neck and probably smelling Stiles' feelings vomiting all over the room. "Peter said if I helped him out at the shop and took over when he's in New York in June, we could use his loft --"

Derek trailed off, turning his head and tilting it while he listened. He made a small, tiny squawking sound before scrambling to cover them both up with the blanket. Recognizing all the signs of _fuck, we're busted, there's no getting out of this_ , Stiles tried to help.

They ended up as a tangled mess on the floor.

There was a warning knock on the door before it opened.

"Oh, Derek," Claudia said, her eyes gleaming gold at seeing her packmate, "Welcome back. You'll be staying for dinner, won't you?"

"Yes'm," Derek said.

Stiles banged his head on the floor.

"And you'll call your mother? She thought you'd be home by now."

"Yes'm," Derek said, hiding his face in Stiles' neck.

Stiles waved a hand at his mom to _go away_. " _Privacy_ , mom. It's still a thing."

Claudia laughed and shut the door behind her.

\-------------------------

55

 **Notes:** Set in a 1x04 (Magic Bullet) where Stiles did not immediately find out that Scott was a werewolf. 

“Shit, okay, okay. Okay, you’ve been shot, you smell like death, we need to call the cops!”

“No cops,” rasped _Derek Hale_ ; Stiles wasn't sure why he recognized Derek right away, but there had always been something memorable about the Hales. “Do you know Scott McCall?”

Did Stiles know Scott? Yes. Was he going to murder Scott for getting involved in something probably illegal? Also yes.

“What do you want with Scott? He works with dogs, not people.” Stiles’ fingers hovered over his father’s number. “Oh my God, are you his drug dealer? Did you supply his juice?” It made a scary amount of sense if you ignored that Scott lacked the street smarts to buy weed without their parents finding out, much less steroids. Stiles knew from experience.

“Not a drug dealer. Find Scott. Need his help.”

Derek’s eyes flashed blue. That was how a Hale ended up bundled in Stiles’ car while Stiles worked through the fact that his best friend was a werewolf.

The rest of Stiles’ week wasn’t better, even though they’d managed to save Derek at the last minute. He spent the next few days warring between sulking that Scott hadn’t told him out of some misguided attempt to protect him and indulging his – some would say psychotic – need to know everything about new situations. On Thursday, Stiles gave up on the internet and decided to go to the source. 

The source sucked. Between Scott informing him that Derek was shady as fuck and the body in the woods being identified as Derek’s sister, Stiles was starting to think the guy _might_ be untrustworthy. Still, he could suck it up and play nice with someone he distrusted. For Scott.

Stiles found Derek in his ruined home doing shirtless pushups. Yes, that certainly helped.

“Hi, Derek,” he said, pretending they were friends. Saving a guy’s life probably entitled you to that, though from the way Derek was glaring at him he didn’t agree. “Look, I think this is all going to go better if you start sharing information instead of growling at Scott and being mysterious. I’ve known him since preschool, and let me tell you, the boy has a problem with male authority.”

“You’re human,” Derek said. “You’re not involved. You don’t need to know.”

“Like hell! Did you miss the part where I’ve known Scott since pre-school? What he needs to know, I need to know, and we need to know everything.”

Derek stood in one smooth motion and stalked forward into Stiles’ personal space. Stiles froze when he remembered he was in the room with a dangerous, supernatural predator who would sooner eat him than look at him. “You don’t. Why would I trust you? Or tell you anything?”

Stiles’ brain stalled on reasons. He stared at Derek’s face with his mouth hanging open, feeling trapped by Derek’s stare. Derek was staying an inch from Stiles’ chest, so close that when Derek exhaled, Stiles could feel it on his cheeks.

“I could,” Stiles hedged, “do something. Anything you wanted.”

Derek’s scowl changed slowly, from a serious frown to a sneer that was more canine aggression than amusement. “Anything.”

It was just to get information for Scott; Stiles could do anything for that. “Whatever you want.”

Derek shrugged and unzipped his jeans and pushed his underwear quickly aside, revealing that his cock was already half-hard. Stiles froze up again, until Derek pushed both his shoulders down. His knees buckled and he hit the floor solidly enough to send up a cloud of dust.

“Here.” Derek put his hands on both sides of Stiles’ head and used his thumbs to spread his lips wide. “Watch your teeth.”

Stiles didn’t need his guidance to put his mouth around Derek’s cock, but he was thankful for the hands when Derek started to fuck his mouth. He struggled not to gag as Derek began to speak:

“There are three types of werewolf: Alpha, Beta, and Omega…”

\-------------------------

56

 **Notes:** From “Lunatic” S1E08. What if Stiles saw Lydia and Scott make out? What if they did more than make out?

Stiles ducked out of the locker room, slightly frantic. Scott could be anywhere. As soon as he'd asked Scott to find out if Lydia was sexually attracted to him, he knew it was a terrible idea. It was temporary insanity. That was the only explanation. 

There was no way Lydia was attracted to him. She was into coiffed, bulked-up dudes like Jackson. Stiles just let his denial get the better of him. Scott was testy because of the full moon. Lydia had a short fuse when someone was trying her patience. The whole thing was a recipe for disaster. 

When he turned the corner, he saw Lydia's BFF of the week walking away from Lydia's locker. Lydia had to be close. He heard voices coming from Mr. Westover's room, one of them definitely Lydia's, so he peered into the window. What Stiles saw stopped him dead in his tracks.

His immediate reaction was to bust into the classroom, pull Scott off Lydia, and punch his fucking lights out. His best friend. His fucking best friend was making out with the potential love of Stiles' life. Stiles could feel adrenaline-fueled rage course through him.

But what could he do? Scott was a werewolf. And Lydia, well, Lydia was pushing Scott onto Mr. Westover's desk and climbing onto his lap.

Stiles couldn't look away.

Rationally, he wanted Scott to stop her. Or Lydia to stop Scott. He really, really did. But Lydia was pulling off her sweater and reaching under her skirt to peel off her tights. He could see the creamy skin of her thighs, and his dick was very interested in the proceedings.

When she straddled Scott's lap, Stiles got a glimpse of red panties. It was enough to table his anger for the time being. He was never going to make it with Lydia. This was as close as he was going to get. So he lived vicariously as he watched Scott’s hands, combing through her hair, gripping her ass, and pulling her forward.

She extricated herself from his grip suddenly and climbed off the desk. Stiles turned away from the door and pressed against the wall, but he didn’t hear her coming toward it. When he looked back into the room, she was tossing the red panties onto an empty desk. Stiles pressed the heel of his palm against his cock and bit back a groan. 

“Well, take it out, Scott.” Lydia said sharply. “This has to be quick.”

Stiles had seen Scott's dick before, but not since the bite. He had read things on the internet about werewolf cocks, but it didn't look any different. As Scott gave his cock a few strokes, Stiles gaped at how, well, arousing it was. His dick didn't deflate. In fact, it did the opposite, which helped considerably with his bisexual theory.

Lydia procured a condom from somewhere and rolled it down Scott’s dick. Then she climbed back on the desk and sank down on it just like that. Still in her skirt, Stiles couldn’t see everything, but he saw enough. 

Lydia circled her hips, grinding down and then lifting herself back up, riding Scott like he was just a toy for her pleasure. Scott's hands were at her waist. When Lydia let out a moan, his claws popped out. Stiles considered stopping them, but from his angle, he could see Lydia’s tits bouncing up and down, and nothing else seemed _that_ important.

If Stiles saw teeth, he’d intervene. Definitely. Maybe. If Lydia noticed. But nothing short of Scott trying to tear out Lydia’s throat was going to make Stiles stop watching right then. 

When Lydia reached her hand down under her skirt, Stiles just about lost it right there in his pants. She was rubbing her clit, and even though he couldn’t really see, it was _still_ the hottest thing he had ever seen.

Stiles was aching for relief, but he didn’t want to whip it out in the hallway. Plus, as soon as Scott got his rocks off, he would totally sniff Stiles out. When Lydia started gasping, Stiles couldn’t handle it. He darted down the hallway and ducked into the first classroom he could find. Leaning against the door, he took out his dick.

With the image of Lydia and Scott in his mind, in three strokes Stiles was spilling into his hand. 

He took a few deep breaths, trying to recover before he went to confront Scott.

\-------------------------

57

"I can't believe you flirted with her," Stiles said, still a little breathless after leaving the police station. 

"What the hell did you think I was planning on doing?" Derek sounded exasperated as he got back into Stiles' Jeep. "You didn't think I was actually going to hurt her, did you?"

"No, but I didn't think you were gonna... charm her. With your stubble and your... smiling."

"'Give me a sample,'" Derek snorted.

"It was a legitimate request at the time!" 

"Just take us back to the train station," he said, gesturing at Isaac, still curled in the backseat.

"Fine," Stiles grumbled. "Just go on and seduce everyone else in your way, that seemed to work pretty well."

\-----

Isaac disappeared into the large space once they got inside, and Derek turned to look at Stiles.

"Is there anything else?"

"I still can't believe you just..." Stiles flailed demonstratively.

"Why are you so fixated on this?"

"It's not fair! You're all supernaturally strong and look like a model, the only thing you had that put you in the category of mere mortals was your terrible personality. And now apparently you can fake that!"

"Are you going into shock? Is that what's happening? Because you're sounding kind of nuts."

"Whatever. I'm going home. I'm going to pretend I never saw you smile like that." Stiles pointed at him threateningly. "I don't want to see it again, are we clear?"

Derek stared at him helplessly. "I have no idea what's happening right now."

"Good!" Stiles yelled as he stormed out.

_

"Derek!" Stiles yelled as he stormed back in. "I told you not to do that again!"

"What's wrong?"

"You smiled again. When you were picking up Erica from school. Who, by the way, you apparently turned into a werewolf. Did you seduce her too?"

"I... maybe?"

"Of course you did, asshole. You need to put that away! You're a danger to all the womenfolk of Beacon Hills. And a good portion of the men, too."

"I haven't seduced any men."

"Oh, really?" Stiles looked at him as if he was an idiot. "And what do you think was happening in my room, 'Miguel'?"

"That was you, not me!"

"Whatever. With great power comes great responsibility, so be a little more fucking responsible."

"Right, how dare I be nice to people or smile at them like a normal human being."

"You're not being nice or smiling, you're - you're playing them. If I thought any of it was actually about you being happy or wanting to get with someone, that would be different."

"How do you know? Maybe I wanted to talk to that lady cop."

Stiles gave him an assessing look. "Did you?"

"Not the point. Actually, I have no idea what the point of any of this is."

"It's that -" Stiles' face flamed. "Whatever, nothing, I'm leaving."

"Wait," Derek said, grabbing him by the arm. "Are you jealous?"

"What? No! Why would I be... I mean, I'm not even sure I'm gay-"

Derek dropped his arm like it was burning him. "I mean, uh, jealous of my ability to seduce people or whatever. I didn't mean, um."

"Oh." It was silent for a minute. "Well, this is awkward."

____

Stiles made an incoherent noise as he felt Derek push inside him - the sensation not new, exactly (he was an enterprising guy, not much that he could accomplish solo was entirely foreign to him), but different, better, than anything he'd experienced before.

"Oh god, Stiles, I can't - you're - oh my god," Derek gasped into his neck.

Stiles pushed his fingers harder into the skin of Derek's back, sure he was leaving nail marks. He didn't care, it was too much, he needed to do something, push back, push as he arched into Derek's thrusts.

He came and he saw stars.

When Derek had pulled back out, thrown away the condom and rested his sweaty head on Stiles's chest, looking more innocent than Stiles had ever seen him before, he decided it was time to face the music,

“Okay, you succeeded. What do you want from me?”

“What?” Derek asked, rasing his head to look at Stiles. His lips were still red, his cheeks rosy.

“The whole seduction thing. What was it for?”

Derek pulled back a little. “I… just like you.”

“Oh. Um. Really?”

“Yeah,” Derek said. And he smiled, and Stiles had to admit it didn’t look anything like the smiles he’d seen before.

\-------------------------

58

 **Notes:** When Derek threw that glass at Isaac, the boy didn't run. Instead, he switched into submissive mode, convincing Derek to let him stay. (Or "Isaac is Derek's obedient little fucktoy" AU.)

 

It started with the glass and Isaac clinging to this mess of a life that was not worth fighting for. But he did, and he was so good at it that Derek couldn't throw him out that night. Or the next. Or any other night. Whenever he tried, Isaac would sink down on his knees, proving his obedience and loyalty in the most persuasive way possible. 

“It's like paying rent,” he once said, wiping Derek's cum off his chin with the back of his hand. “Actually, now that I think about it, I'm good enough so that _you_ should start to pay _me_.”

It was just a silly joke, but the smugness on Isaac's face stirred a sudden anger in Derek, fierce, beyond his control. He backhanded him hard, receiving a wide-eyed stare that transformed into a mischievous grin the next moment. That night, Isaac turned into a mess of sweaty curls and obscene cussing under Derek's thrusts. 

The occasional blow jobs turned into not-so-occasional fucking, anywhere, everywhere, rougher and less controlled every time. Whenever Derek needed to blow off steam, Isaac was right there, taking it all without complaint.

It was bizarre, alarming, and yet neither of them could help it. Not even Cora threatening to move out made Derek stop. When she left, he was almost relieved; at least she wouldn't have to witness her brother's downfall anymore.

Sometimes, Derek wished he could chase Isaac away just as easily. No matter what he did, the boy always returned home, lashes fluttering and cheeks burning, but with his head up high. This tiny spark of pride, hidden underneath the submission that his father's hands had beaten into him for years, was what Derek loved and dreaded the most. It was only a matter of time until Isaac would either fight back or break completely.

Derek hushed his guilty conscience with the thought that the boy was well capable of walking away if he so chose, although he knew it wasn't true. He wouldn't go anywhere unless he was pushed there hard.

Today, 'there' was flush against the wall. Today, Isaac smelled of Allison, so thoroughly that there was no doubt how her scent had clung to his skin. The mere thought got Derek raging with an unknown jealousy, strong and pure.

“Derek, please, it mean nothing. The nogitsune—”

Derek hit him in the face hard enough to whip his head to the side, but Isaac just bit his lip, didn't make a sound.

“You belong to me.”

“I didn't mean to upset you,” Isaac said calmly. “I'm sorry.”

“You should be.” Derek hurled him to the floor, unable to bite back a growl when the boy propped himself on all fours, ass up in the air and forehead down on the ground. Like the obedient puppy he loved to be, and that had hooked Derek from the start.

He made short work of Isaac's jeans and boxers, and almost shorter work of spitting on him and pushing a finger inside, evoking a sharp hiss through gritted teeth.

“How about some lube?”

“Maybe later.”

Saliva worked well enough for two digits, but the third was a challenge. However, it seemed Isaac didn't mind the lesson much; he pushed back eagerly, uttering broken moans, although it must hurt.

“You want this so badly, don't you?”

Isaac managed only a long-drawn whimper.

“Tell me.”

“I want you inside me. Please, Derek, I need you to . . .”

“Fuck you?”

“Claim me.”

Derek tilted his head to the side, frowning. “You know what? I don't think so.” When he withdrew his fingers, Isaac made such a desperate sound that his heart clenched.

“Please, I'll do anything, just please. Don't—please!”

“I'll tell you what,” Derek said slowly, nudging Isaac to turn around and face him. “You'll get yourself off for me. Any way I want you to. You'll keep going until I say it's enough. No matter how many times you've come. No matter how long it takes. And maybe I'll fuck you later, when you're so wasted that you can't even take it anymore.”

Isaac looked up at him with quivering lips. “But you'll . . . I can stay, right?”

“Probably.”

A flash of amber lit Isaac's eyes. “What's first?”

\-------------------------

59  
 **Notes:** Lunar Ellipse divergent: Aiden and Lydia ran away when Jennifer crashed through Derek's skylight, thus Jennifer fights Kali alone.

"I-I should have..." the words died in Kali's throat, they weren't true anyways. 

Jennifer hesitated, the jagged glass shards shimmering in the air as the wind quiets, "Should have what?" 

Kali shook her head swallowing deeply, the pain of the realization much worse than Julia's new power tossing her around like a rag doll. 

"No," Jennifer said angrily, glass clattering to the floor as she stalked closer, "you don't get to close me out, not now, I'm not her any more." 

"Jul-" Kali began. 

" _Jennifer_ " she hissed, and the space between them kept disintegrating. 

Kali's gaze dipped down along her clenched jaw line, "I should have just killed Deucalion." 

Jennifer's deep growl startled her into jerking her wet eyes up, "Do you have _any_ idea how long I've waited for that?" 

Jennifer's hands pulled Kali's hair harshly, and her lips devoured hers. Kali was gentle in return, rubbing her back and keeping her teeth dulled like she used to when they first began to kiss. Jennifer didn't care for that though, not with everything that had happened, not with how close to death Kali had just been. She pushed the taller woman up against the wall and nipped at her throat until Kali's claws pricked through her clothes. 

"So demanding," Kali said lowly, squeezing her flesh tighter and letting her nails scratch. 

"Mhmm, you love it," Jennifer answered, rocking her hips forward, and settling on Kali's thigh.

"I do," Kali said, drawing Jennifer's lips up to hers to swallow any response. 

Jennifer's hand forced itself into Kali's tight pants instead, the button popping off and rolling across the floor. She ignored it, pushing into the kiss deeper and clutching her silk covered vulva. Jennifer grinned against her lips- even after all these years of being a wolf, Kali still wore the classiest undergarments. 

Kali's hands moved at a slower rate, she always had been the more patient of the two, and her warm palms pressed against her waist, holding her closer, tighter. She let her nails scrape over her spine as she dragged her hands up, and Jennifer shivered in her arms, tapping her clit rapidly with one finger as retaliation. Kali let out a breathless moan/laugh hybrid, and went for Jennifer's pants, already smelling her wetness. Jennifer quickly thrust three of her fingers into Kali deeply while rubbing her clit with her thumb, knowing once Kali's hands were on her she wouldn't have the focus. The mixture of the feedback arousal loop and knowing that Jennifer still remembered after all this time, that she still did it exactly the same pushed Kali over the edge rapidly. 

Kali stroked Jennifer through her own aftershocks, her brain coming back online as Jennifer's scent thickened in the air. 

"You've been such a naughty girl Jennifer," Kali began, slipping her free hand into her blouse. 

"And you know it too," Kali added, tweaking a nipple harshly, "the people I don't mind, but another werewolf? You know that even before, I would have vetoed him. Is that why you picked him?" 

Jennifer didn't answer, slumping forward a bit as Kali's hand moved faster against her pussy, the warm friction taking her breath away. 

"Why _him_ Jen?" Kali pressed, her hand moving up to squeeze the back of her neck. 

Jennifer flushed even deeper, "...he had claws." 

"Oh," Kali remarked, jealousy deflating and a smile stretching across her lips, "well don't think I'm not going to still paddle you at home. I'll get you all nice and soaked over the edge of the couch, I'll lick you until you can't open your legs any wider, until your pussy's pressing out to kiss my lips, until you're shaking with it and then-"

A small mewl escaped from Jennifer, and Kali's words cut off, kissing her lightly. Her mouth moved down to her shoulder, teeth closed over right where his mark had been, and Jennifer wasn't surprised the woman found it even healed over. Her human teeth sunk into her, marking her once again, and Jennifer came with a moan, collapsing forward.

"Shhh," Kali murmured, holding her up, "we're going to be just fine." 

"I've missed you," she answered into her neck. 

Kali held her tighter, "Me too, let's go home."

\-------------------------

60

 **Notes:** This assumes a few things. One, that Jennifer was not the Darach and didn’t seduce Derek and use him for sex. Two, that he managed to heal without her help while the boys were at the hotel. Three, that Stiles has been “consoling” Scott after his break up with Allison and that they are together...and by “console,” I mean with his dick. XD And four, that both Scott and Stiles have been pining after Derek, and vice versa. This takes place after Motel California.

~*~*~*~*~

The slide of the closing door made Derek look up from the table in front of him. Turning around, he was very surprised to see Stiles and Scott standing in his doorway, both with stunned expressions on their faces. For a moment, they all just stared at each other. 

Stiles was the first to move, stepping slowly across the room until he stood in front of Derek. His mouth worked a couple of times, drawing Derek’s attention to how chapped and bitten they were. He followed the movement when Stiles’ tongue darted out to lick at them, then gave himself a mental shake. Stiles was with Scott. There was no room for him there.

“You’re alive.” Stiles’ voice was low and hesitant, as though he couldn’t believe it. “You didn’t -- You’re alive.” 

Next thing Derek knows, he has an armful of Stiles and eager lips nudging at his own. For a split second, he allows himself to indulge in the feeling, returning Stiles’ kiss with vigor. Then he realized what he was doing and pushed Stiles away. 

“Don’t,” he said harshly. “Don’t do that. You and Scott --”

“Have been trying to find a way to tell you that we want you,” Scott’s voice interrupted from right in his ear. “I’m actually glad he did that.”

Derek blinked at both of them, confused and incredulous. What the hell was going on? 

“What --” he tried to ask but didn’t get much farther before Scott had caught his lips in a searing kiss, licking across the seam of his lips and demanding entrance. His head spun a bit with everything that was happening. How had he missed this? 

Pushing Scott back a bit, he stared at him, confused. “You hate me, Scott. What’s really going on?”

“Well,” Scott said, grinning sheepishly. “Hate’s kind of a...strong word.”

“Pigtail pulling,” Stiles interjected, leaning in and mouthing at the hinge of Derek’s jaw. Derek hadn’t even noticed him moving close again. “He’s been pigtail pulling.” Stiles cupped Derek’s jaw and turned him to face him. “Please tell us you’re willing. It doesn’t have to mean --”

Derek didn’t let him get any further, reaching for first one and then the other and drawing them in for a deep, hard kiss in answer. After that, it was a flurry of clothes, questing lips, and fumbling hands as they stumbled to Derek’s bed. 

They finally settled with Stiles against the headboard, Derek between his splayed legs with Stiles’ erection nudging the top of his ass. Scott kneeled above them between Derek’s thighs, licking his lips and watching both of them hungrily with shining eyes, a hit of fang poking over his bottom lip. 

Derek’s dick twitched at the loss of control; and he dropped his own fangs, letting his eyes flash briefly. Behind him, Stiles moaned and jerked his hips, humping up against Derek’s back. Stiles mouthed at the back of Derek’s neck, scraping his teeth along the nape.

Derek growled and jerked his head forward, moving it so that it rested on Stiles’ shoulder, baring his neck. Above him Scott drew in a harsh breath through his nose and darted forward, lightly resting his fangs on the offered skin. Derek closed his eyes and arched his back, bumping their cocks together.

Behind him, Stiles panted in his ear and let his hands wander, drifting up and down Derek’s chest and stopping to pinch and pull at sensitive nipples as Scott lowered himself down to grind into Derek’s lap. Slowly, they built a rhythm between them, Derek straining up against Scott and then rubbing back against Stiles. 

Hands roamed as they rutted against each other, and kisses were shared indiscriminately. Derek found that he liked to watch them kiss. Scott devoured Stiles’ mouth, licking into it and scraping his lower lip with his fangs, leaving them pink and puffy and perfect for Derek to swoop in and ruin more. 

A warm wetness on his back signalled Stiles’ orgasm, as did the way he wailed and arched against him. Scott swallowed that wail, kissing Stiles deeply before pulling back and digging human teeth into Stiles’ shoulder. Derek drove his hips harder and planted his hand on the small of Scott’s back, encouraging him on faster and harder. 

Stiles whispered filth at them, kissing and caressing as they chased their orgasms, finally reaching a peak and tumbling over with fang-bared growls and shining eyes

\-------------------------

61

 

"What are you doing here," Hale scowls. "This is private property." 

"Well, actually," Stiles says. "It's public property. And as a taxpayer--" 

"Can I help you with something?"

"It's Potter. I'm his Biology teacher. If he doesn't pass, you have to bench him."

"So pass him." 

"You know I can't do that." 

"What can I do," he asks, looking up finally. 

"My office. 6:30." 

Hale meets his gaze. "Okay."   
\-------------

Coach Derek Hale is beautiful, but he's even more beautiful bent over Stiles' desk with his jeans down around his ankles. 

"Fuck, oh fuck," Stiles says, "Now open your legs a little wider."

He can't; his jeans are keeping them together, but he tries anyway, and says, "Yes sir."

He looks so pitiful, face flushed, dick hard, and ashamed. "Please, Mr. Stilinski. Please, may I have another?" 

Stiles pulls his hand back hard, and slaps it onto the flushed curve of Hale's ass cheek. He winces, but grinds his hips forward, so Stiles does it again, and again, and again, until he's left panting, and Hale's ass is left with imprints of his hand. "What do you want now, Coach?" Stiles ask him. 

"Your fingers," he pants, "fuck me with your fingers." He presses back against Stiles while he's saying it, which is a bit much probably, but Stiles doesn't mind that Hale's laying it on thick. He shoves his fingers in Hale's mouth. 

"Get them wet for me." Hale sucks. 

Stiles doesn't leave it at that, dips his saliva-covered fingers in some lotion before he circles the tips of them up and down Hale's crack, and shoves a finger straight into his ass. Hale hisses, but takes it like a champ. 

"More," he says. 

Stiles withdraws completely. "I'm sorry, what was that?" 

"More, please, sir," Hale says. 

Stiles presses back in with two fingers, but he's not fucking around. He crooks them and flicks his wrist around until Hale is moaning and rubbing against the desk as Stiles' fingers jam into him. "Do you want to come?" 

"Yes, yes, YESS, sir," Hale whines. 

Stiles curves his free hand around Hale's hip and digs in hard enough to leave bruises. "Then touch yourself, you fucking criminal," he says, not stopping, only pumping his fingers faster. 

Coach Hale comes with a grunt and little fanfare. He's pulling up his jeans and righting his polo when Stiles stops him with a hand on his shoulder. "I'm not finished with you yet." 

"I took my punishment."

"It wasn't your punishment, it was Potter's, and he's been an awful this year. On your knees." 

Hale looks like he's about to bolt for the door, but he doesn't. "Yes, sir," he says, and does it.

Stiles gets a hand around his face and presses on the hinge of his jaw. "Open." That's all it takes. Seconds later, Stiles his shoving his dick into Hale's mouth. "Yes, yes," he mumbles, as he does it, fucking Hale's throat with little to no abandoned. It's hot and slick and tight and Hale's eyes are watering so beautifully, all Stiles can do is pump his hips and pull Hale's hair, use his other hand to keep Hale's mouth open. 

"You're good," he gasps, "so good. Look at you taking it. You're taking it so good. I wish you could see yourself. You'd put yourself on first line. First line of dick sucking. Yes, yes---." It doesn't take long. Stiles shoves his dick into Hale's face, and Hale pulls him forward with a hand on his ass, opens his throat while Stiles fucks it. He comes down Hale's throat in no time. 

"Jesus," Derek says, using the desk to pull himself up. "You're not getting another blowjob until we're in the bedroom. I'm too old for this shit." 

"It was good, though, wasn't it?" Stiles hums kisses into the corners of Derek's mouth. "Potter really is about to flunk, though."

"Yeah, I know." Derek finds Stiles' belt hanging off the side of the desk and hands it to him. "I doubt we'll make state without him."

"Sorry, babe," Stiles says, as he threads his belt through his khakis. "At least the girls are going to state."

"Yeah, about that," Derek says, "I'm fucking you over Coach McCall's desk next time." 

"Alright? You wanna go out for dinner? I'm up for anything but Italian."

"Chinese?" 

"Sure. Meet you at home in 20? You can drive." 

Derek pecks Stiles' cheek before he leaves. "Love you." 

Stiles smirks back at him. "I know."

\-------------------------

62

 **Notes:** Missing scenes from S1, episodes 1-3

 

The first time they fuck is the night of the party.

Allison gets a glimpse of him when she walks in with Scott, all dark hair and leather, illuminated by crackling flames in the fire pit. He's gone before she can ask about him, so she reaches for Scott's hand and tries to convince herself the heat on her cheeks is because of her date and not a mysterious stranger.

Beacon Hills is a fresh start, somewhere she can forget the past and tamp down the fire burning in her blood. Scott is nothing like her ex-boyfriend; he's shy, sweet. A boy Allison's parents would approve of.

She wraps her arms around Scott's neck as they dance. A thrill runs up her spine when his hands tighten around her waist, fingers digging almost painfully into her side. 

Allison wonders if Scott is as innocent as she once thought, but then he's gone without any explanation.

When she turns around, _he_ is there, telling her he's a friend of Scott's.

"My name's Derek." His smile is edged with danger. A wave of heat washes over her when he says, "It looks like you could use a ride."

Allison follows him without a second thought.

+++

She's already trembling when he pulls her jeans down and buries his face between her thighs.

"Let go, Allison," he says, licking her through wet satin and breathing her in. "I'm just getting started."

He snakes a finger under the elastic of her panties, strokes and teases her until she's crying out for more.

+++ 

Scott looks so earnest when he asks for another chance. Her father is waiting to take her home so Allison relents, then says she has to go.

A twinge of guilt prickles at the back of her mind when she sees Scott's warm smile.

She can't stop thinking about Derek.

+++

Her jacket mysteriously appears and she wonders how it got there, if Derek brought it to her.

When Scott asks where she got it, a lie about Lydia putting it in her locker falls easily from her tongue. She doesn't like Scott's accusatory questions and when he says Derek's not a friend, Allison walks away.

After class, she sees Derek lurking by the athletic fields and catches his eye. 

He fucks her under the bleachers, her mini-dress pushed up around her waist, while the lacrosse team practices for the big game.

Derek leaves without a word. Come drips down Allison's thighs as she yanks her tights up from around her knees. She straightens her dress, then goes to meet her father in front of the school.

+++

Derek's car is parked one block over when Scott drops her off after their bowling date. Scott kisses her, nice and soft, then Allison runs upstairs and sneaks out her bedroom window.

When they stop at a red light, Derek leans over and forces his tongue into her mouth, kissing her breathless until all she can taste is him. He pulls away when the light changes and continues driving as if nothing happened at all.

Allison's heartbeat thunders in her chest. Being kissed by Derek Hale is _nothing_ like kissing Scott.

"What happened to your window?" Allison asks, toeing a piece of glass on the floor mat.

"I ran into an old acquaintance at the gas station," Derek answers. "It didn't go well."

He looks at her from the corner of his eye and slides his hand between her legs.

+++

Allison's bare breasts are bathed in moonlight as her sweat-slick back slides against the hood of the Camaro. Her legs are slung over Derek's shoulders as he eats her out and two fingers slipping into her wet cunt is all it takes to bring her to orgasm. Her thighs clench around him, sticking to the leather of his jacket, as she cries out into the night.

Her body is still shaking when he flips her over, hands scrabbling for purchase when he thrusts inside her. He doesn't bother trying to get her off again, just grabs her hips and drags her back onto his cock, using her body to find his release.

Derek comes with a growl, then pulls out and zips himself up. The headlights provide enough light for Allison to find her clothes and she dresses quickly while he watches her from the driver's seat.

+++ 

They don't talk during the ride back to town, not until she gets out of his car.

"Allison," Derek calls out through his window. "Tell your father it's his move."

\-------------------------

63

 **Notes:** AU where Jackson never went to London, and Derek, Peter, and Scott have been giving him lessons in How To Werewolf.

“Bad pup. Get off.” Peter reached over his shoulder and flicked Jackson’s nose, making him sneeze and roll away. Peter stood and dusted leaves off his shirt, frowning when Derek snickered. 

“Scott, go play with Jackson,” Derek said. Scott shifted and pounced onto the other teen, the two of them rolling in the dirt and snarling at each other. Peter sidled over to where Derek stood by the pizzas Stiles had dropped off, picking the fallen bits of sausage from the bottom of the box. They idly watched the two teens wrestle, and Peter was the first one to notice when the wrestling turned into writhing. He glanced at Derek and then took a few steps to place himself behind his nephew, pressing up against his back. Derek went still.

“Do you remember when we were like that?” he whispered, nodding to Jackson and Scott. Derek looked over to see them tearing at each other’s clothes and biting at shoulders. Peter wrapped his arms around Derek’s waist and cupped his hands over his crotch, slowly massaging. “We’d come home with leaves in our hair and dirt under our nails from the forest floor. You were always too eager to let me get us anywhere more comfortable.” Derek was plumping up beneath Peter’s hands, and he gave a squeeze. 

“Like you cared,” Derek shot back. “You were just as eager as I was to get naked.” 

“But I didn’t literally rip your clothes off, most of the time. I liked that shirt you ruined, it was a gift,” Peter pouted. “Though I don’t remember if it was from Laura or your mother.”

“Both. They got you a pack of identical shirts in different colors. The blue wasn’t your favorite, and you looked better in the green anyway.” Peter hummed and opened Derek’s pants, slipping a hand inside to wrap around his cock, both of them watching as Scott shoved Jackson down into the dirt and rutted against him. 

“Do you still think I look good in green?” Peter asked, kissing Derek’s neck as he stroked him. 

“Of course I do,” Derek grunted, rolling his hips back against Peter’s erection. “In your own words, it complements your skin tone. But red does bring out your eyes.”

“So you _do_ pay attention.” Peter pushed Derek’s jeans down his thighs and fondled his balls, open to the air. Derek turned his head and caught Peter’s mouth in a heated, bruising kiss. Peter was panting when he finally pulled away. 

“Tell me, dear nephew,” he said. “Which one do you think will be more embarrassed?”

“About what?” 

Peter chuckled. 

“That is the question isn’t it. How about having sex with an audience. Or that they’ll have to ride home naked. Or that they even had sex with each other in the first place?” 

Derek was silent for a moment while Peter nibbled on his neck. 

“Scott will be more embarrassed about being naked; Jackson will be more embarrassed about having sex with Scott at all. Jackson, probably,” Derek answered. Peter sucked a mark onto his neck and watched it fade. 

“I agree. Plus he’ll be upset about the dirt and leaves.” 

Derek didn’t reply as Peter sped up his hand, bringing Derek off at the same time Scott howled his completion. Peter caught Derek’s come in his hand, waited until he was done, and then brought his hand to his mouth to clean it off, his eyes glowing blue when Derek looked back at him and pecked his cheek. 

“I’ll finish you off when we get home,” he promised, tucking himself back into his jeans. 

“I’ll hold you to that,” Peter said, smiling. Scott rolled off of Jackson, both of them shifting back as they tried to catch their breath, covered in each other’s come. 

“Having fun?” Peter called to them. They jumped and Scott pushed himself up off the ground. Jackson sat up and looked down at himself, then glared at them. 

“We never speak of this,” he growled. Peter laughed. 

“Just go clean up and we’ll take you home. I’m afraid you’ll have to ride back naked, since you ruined your clothes.” Scott headed around the house to the hose in the back, and Jackson followed after glaring for another minute. Peter caught Derek’s waist as he moved to put the leftover pizza in his car. 

“See you at home,” he murmured, kissing Derek quickly before going to make sure the boys were behaving. He couldn’t trust teenage boys alone with their dicks.

\-------------------------

64

 **Notes:** Missing scene from _Visionary_ episode that helps explain how Stiles knew about Kate.  


Stiles sat alone in Derek’s loft, long after Peter and Cora both disappeared to who knows where. He was surprised that Cora didn’t want to get to the truth. 

Derek entered the loft, dragging the door closed with ease before he turned, spotted Stiles and stopped. “Why’re you here?” 

”I have some questions,” Stiles said after a long, hesitant pause. He stood up from the island counter. “Peter told us about Paige. And werewolf eye color.” The words were quiet, respectful. He could see the surprise on Derek’s face and felt his heart speed up. 

”What do you want?” Derek asked, voice weary and defeated. 

Stiles gaped, mouth opening and closing a few times before he formulated what he wanted to say. He crossed to Derek, hesitating before reaching out and lightly gripping his shoulder. “First, I’m sorry. If what Peter told us was the truth, what happened to her sucks.” 

Derek flashed his eyes and growled, “Did he tell you that I’m the reason she’s dead? That I had to kill her when the bite I never wanted her to have didn’t take?” 

”Uh, that’s not exactly how he said it,” Stiles said, wincing. “Dude, from what I can tell, that isn’t your fault. Ennis bit her and her body rejected the bite.” 

”Don’t call me dude.” The words didn’t have their usual bite. Slumping, Derek moved to lean against the island, back to Stiles. “You don’t know what I’m to blame for, Stiles. You should leave. The past doesn’t concern you.” 

Stiles sighed and moved until his hand was resting on Derek’s shoulder, aware that he was taking his life in his hands. “It does if you’re still beating yourself up over it.” He didn’t know why he cared, but he did. 

”Go away,” Derek bit out. “I don’t want to talk about it. 

“Well, we kinda need you to, Derek. If a member of the Alpha Pack was involved, it could help us understand them better,” Stiles countered. 

Derek growled, a low threatening rumble. “Nothing about Paige is your business. Leave it alone.” 

Grabbing Derek, Stiles caught him by surprise with a tug and managed to get him to turn around. “Stop shutting me out!” he yelled. “I’m trying to help, Derek. In case you don’t remember, we’re all in danger here. Stuff that you know, that happened to you might have bearing on us getting out of this alive.” 

”Oh, you think so?” Derek said menacingly. He pushed back from the island, slowly but steadily walking Stiles back to the far wall while he spoke. “You don’t have a right to my past,” he growled. “Or my pain.” 

Stiles reacted without thinking, grabbing Derek’s hand and squeezing it tight. “I don’t have a right, but I want to help. Let me help,” he said quietly and steadily even while his heart raced. 

Derek snorted. “How can you help? You can’t make it go away, you can’t erase the past. Paige won’t be alive and I won’t have helped Kate kill my family.” He sucked in a shocked breath, unable to believe he’d said the words aloud. 

”Kate? Killed your family?” Stiles asked, his brain slotting and locking his realizations into place. “Oh god, Derek,” he said, reaching up and grabbing Derek’s bicep. “Fuck.” 

”I don’t know why I said that,” Derek said, voice quiet, almost scared. “It’s my fault she knew how and when to get in the house. It’s my fault she set them all on fire. She was my destructive distraction after Paige...though I didn’t know just how destructive until it was too late.” 

“Jesus, Derek,” Stiles said. “It’s still not your fault. She’s the only one to blame.” 

Derek shook his head and Stiles sighed. “You’re not responsible,” Stiles said, squeezing Derek’s arm. 

”Stiles, let me go,” Derek said, voice even with a hint of warning. 

”No,” Stiles said. Without conscious thought he pushed forward into Derek’s space, slid his hand behind Derek’s neck and kissed him the way he’d wanted to for longer than he even knew. 

Derek went still for a heart-breaking moment before he tugged Stiles closer and deepened the kiss with a moan. 

Stiles relaxed against Derek, tangling his hand into Derek’s hair and whimpering at the noises that pulled from Derek’s throat. He pulled back only enough to speak softly. “I don’t want your past or your pain, Derek, but I want a future...your future. Let’s get started on that by killing these Alpha Assholes.” 

\-------------------------

65

 **Notes:** What if Allison had never taken Scott back in the first episode? What if, during the ride home from the party with Derek, she discovered she wanted him instead.

 

Allison followed Scott out of the house, frowning. Scott didn't look well, acting weird. _Drugs?_ she thought, watching him stumble-run away from her.

“Allison. I'm a friend of Scott's. My name's Derek.”

Allison turned, even more confused at this older guy, wearing a leather jacket, claiming to be Scott's friend? The guy was gorgeous, but had a weird aura around him.

“Scott sent me to get you home.”

“Is he alright?” Allison asked.

“He's fine,” Derek said, with an air of finality that Allison wanted to push. “I've got a car, over here.”

Derek led her to a dark car, and she slid into the passenger seat. She had a quick vision of what her father would say if he know what she was doing, but he also had taught her how to look after herself. She thought she was a good judge of character and Derek intrigued her. Something about him made her want to push and poke and see what was there.

~~~

It was a few weeks after, the next time she saw Derek. Allison knew a bit more then, but still there was something about Derek that intrigued her. She saw him, hanging around the school, and she assumed he knew that she knew he was there.

Allison entertained fantasies when she was bored in Economics, fantasies of what could've happened in the car if she was in some kind of Harlequin novel. Images of tanned muscles and finger shaped bruises on her hips. She imagined his cock, thick and hard against her, inside her.

She rubbed her fingers over her clit as she imagined his voice saying her name, rougher, breathlessly and came in clenching pulses.

~~~

Allison started to notice a pattern, between Scott and Stiles' mood and Derek's presence, and she started to use it.

She wore short skirts those days, just walking the line of what was acceptable. Scott didn't seem to notice the pattern. If Stiles did he didn't say anything. 

Allison walked over to Derek’s car after school and climbed in. 

“Why do you hang out here, anyway?” 

“I have business with Scott,” Derek said, shortly. 

“Scott never mentions you.”

“Its complicated. I - Scott would have to tell you,” Derek said, shaking his head. He muttered something that definitely sounded like the words _kill_ and _find out_.

“Is it anything illegal?” Allison asked, taking a deep breath. 

“No, not really,” Derek said. “It’s -”

“Complicated,” Allison finished. 

“Exactly,” Derek said. He lifted a hand, reaching out halfway to Allison then dropped it suddenly. Allison wanted him to touch her. She shifted in her seat, not sure what the rules were here. 

“You going to drive me home?”

Derek sighed again. “May as well, Scott’s not going to talk to me anyway.”   
~~~

Allison jumped as something rattled against her bedroom window, startling her from her studying. She opened the window, and gasped. Derek was crouching in the tree in her garden.

“What are you doing?” She hissed at him. Derek just raised his eyebrows at her. Allison rolled her eyes. “Get in before my father sees you.”

Derek leapt at the window, catching the sill. She stepped back as he hauled himself through the window.

“Your father isn't in. I wouldn't be here otherwise.”

Allison ducked her head in response. 

“I didn’t - I’m not -” Derek sighed. “You watch me.” 

“You do the same,” Allison said, head tilting up defiantly. 

Derek nodded. “You want to do something about that?” 

“I do,” Allison said, heart rate increasing. “Do you?” 

Derek nodded, eyes roaming from her face. 

Allison was in her pajamas, shorts and a vest, and she could feel her nipples harden against the material of her top. She knew Derek saw them, and he lifted her top, hands so warm against her breasts. She whined as he thumbed at her nipples, pushing a knee between her legs. Allison let out a breath as she pushed forward against him, friction almost painful against her clit. 

Allison kissed him, clumsily, hands clenching against the leather of his jacket. Derek kept up the pressure and movement until she started to shudder against him, breath escaping in high pitched whines against Derek’s face.

\-------------------------

66

 

“Your brother’s really mean, Scott,” Stiles says when they’re five and Derek, who’s seven, ruins their sand house with his bike. 

“Yeah.” Scott’s shoulders droop. The sand slides out from its neatly shaped pile. “Mom says we can’t give him away.”

~

“Your brother’s _so_ cool,” Stiles says when Derek is twelve and has all the best baseball cards because he traded half of his duplicates. 

Scott doesn’t look up from his maths homework. “Is not.” His tongue peeks out at the corner of his mouth as he slowly moves his pencil in the shape of a nine. 

Stiles is about to protest, but shuts up when Derek comes into the kitchen to grab Kool-Aid from the fridge. 

“Hey, Stiles,” Derek says. “I got another one of these from Boyd.” He throws down a Roy Halladay card next to Stiles’ book. “You can have it.”

Stiles beams at his back, impervious to Scott’s glower.

~

“Your brother’s such an asshole,” Stiles says when one of Derek’s friends shoulder bumps him into his locker again. High school sucks.

~

“Dude, your brother is so stupidly hot,” Stiles says when they’re sixteen and drunk and Stiles has come to the conclusion that dicks are really great. 

“Oh, God, ew!” Scott throws himself down onto the floor and shields his eyes. 

Stiles laughs, taking another sip of beer. It’s disgusting. But he doesn’t think the taste’s the point of drinking. 

“Why would you _say that_?”

“Because it’s the absolute, honest to god truth.” He makes a face. “Paige is so fucking lucky.”

“Oh god, Stiles, can you please have this conversation with someone else?”

Derek finds them drunk and giggling in Scott’s room, and uses the picture he snaps to blackmail Scott for the rest of his high school career.

~

“God, you’re so… so…” The rest of the sentence crumbles in Stiles’ head, drowned out by the never ending mantra of, _Oh Christ, Derek’s hands, Derek’s lips, Derek’s beard, Derek’s everything_. 

It’s hot in Derek’s room. The sheets stick to his naked back and Derek’s hand is like a brand on his inner thigh, spreading his legs wider. His cheeks grow hot, and he turns his face into the pillow that smells like Derek. Fuck, what does he even look like to Derek right now? His legs spread wide like he has no shame, his cock so hard he thinks he’s going to come if Derek so much as breathes on it. 

“So what?” Derek says, and Stiles can’t connect his thoughts, can’t figure out what Derek is asking. 

“Scott’s gonna kill me.” 

Derek laughs, and then a cold, slicked finger brushes along Stiles’ rim. His leg jerks and Derek soothes it with a brief touch. “It’s not a very good idea to bring up family members when people are naked, Stiles.”

“God, sorry, it’s just—” _I’ve thought about this since my first wank._

Stiles’ eyes fly open when his hole takes Derek’s finger, the overwhelming feeling of someone else inside making his back arch. The familiarity of Derek’s room is disorienting. He’d never expected to be on this bed, the baseball posters and the display of Derek’s awards catching the edge of his vision, with Derek’s fingers in his ass. 

He lets out a long moan and rocks down on Derek’s hand. Lifting his head, he catches a glimpse of Derek staring down with intent, his lips parted. God, Derek came home from his first year of college all broad-shouldered and amazing, flirting with Stiles like that wasn’t something completely earth-shattering. And it ended with this: with Derek fingerbanging him.

Derek suddenly brushes against a spot that makes Stiles shake, his mouth losing control of the sounds he makes. 

“Yeah,” Derek says, pumping his hand fast, hitting at the same angle mercilessly until Stiles comes so hard he sees spots. 

Derek doesn’t stop. 

“Can you come like this again, Stiles? For me.” The words are pressed to Stiles’ knee as the fingers slide back in, slow. 

Stiles writhes, his nerves oversensitive. The fingers feel almost twice as big in him, and the bursts of pleasure they elicit border on pain. Threading that line is overwhelming. He can’t stay still. 

“Look at you take it. Fuck, wanted this. Wanted this so bad,” Derek says. 

The tips of Derek’s fingers brush his prostate. Stiles twists, his leg tangling in the sheets as he sobs weakly. 

Derek wipes away the wetness at the corner of Stiles’ eyes with his thumb.

\-------------------------

67

\--  
Lydia feels like her life is a beautifully constructed home. 

There's more rooms than you know what to do with them. The inside is prettier than the outside and it is the envy of the neighbor. But everyone's too busy ooh-ing and aah-ing over the extravagance to notice the house is slowly sinking. 

She feels like she's drowning in the middle of an ocean at night. There's darkness all around her, threatening to engulf her whole. People whisper around her, some of them openly gloating about her 'fall from grace'. A few, more confident (bitchy) girls have come up to her and told her how they were going to snatch Jackson up now that he'd dumped her.

Lydia coolly stares them down before walking away. She's better than them. She's got other things on her mind.

(No, she's not talking about the dark haired man who is haunting her. Lydia forces herself not to think about him and it works. Until night falls and she has to sleep. No matter how hard she tries not to fall asleep and dream of him, Lydia always fails. And Lydia doesn't like to dwell on her failures.)

Like the cute boy she'd met outside the counselor's office. 

The same boy who has just returned Prada to her and is offering her a pretty purple flower, flirtatiously asking her to keep it or she'll hurt his feelings.

Lydia smiles back, gently twirling the flower by its stem before peeking up at the boy. "I wouldn't want to hurt your feelings. After all, you did save Prada."

"Is that the only reason?" He asks lowly, blue eyes locked on her.

Her lashes flutter as she looks down, teeth gently biting down on her lower lip. Lydia is pleased when the coy action makes his eyes dip down to her mouth before coming back up. 

"Maybe." Lydia tucks the flower behind her ear before hooking a finger into the boy's collar. "I think I should thank you properly." 

It's the best worst idea she's had in a while.

The boy's pupils dilate, gaze turning predatory and pleased as he follows Lydia into her home and to her bed.

He's nothing like Jackson. Jackson made love to her like a teenager - more enthusiasm than skill. 

But this boy is different. 

He kisses her like he's hungry and she's a feast. He pushes her down on the bed, rucks her dress up and panties down in sharp but smooth motions before burying his face between her legs. Lydia feels her toes curl, mouth open to let out every obscene sound she can make. 

He breaks her apart, over and over again. And when he's confident she won't ever be whole again, does he push into her and ruin her.

It isn't until later does she realize how deep the damage went.

Even after she knows the truth of how Peter manipulated doesn't stop her from revisiting the memory. In the dark of the night, when she's sure no one can see her, does she let herself think about his tongue and fingers. Burning with shame and desire, Lydia arches her back off her bed and fingers herself to an unsatisfactory orgasm.

Her dirty little secret causes the cracks to grow, threatening the stability of her home and self. She knows she shouldn't but Lydia can't help herself. Call her a helpless slave to pleasure. 

The boys she sleeps with after Jackson leaves are just that. Boys. They don't know how to please her. They are quick to fall back when she pushes them down and hold her hips too gently when she rides them. She struggles to come, rubbing her clit carelessly and remembering how Peter's lips had felt there.

Want burns inside of her, licking against her skin in the aftermath of her latest encounter. She wants more. She wants her partner to push back, to leave bruises on her skin, to fuck her until her hips ache.

She wants Peter but makes do with Aidan. 

It's a temporary solution.

When she walks into Derek's apartment, cunt throbbing from the sense memory of Peter filling her up, Peter inhales sharply and stares at her. Lydia refuses to look at him and acknowledge that she can only fight the desire off for so long before succumbing.

\-------------------------

68

 

Victoria has the knife pressed to her chest, and the light of the full moon shining through Allison's window glints off the blade. "I can't do this myself."

It's not until the handle is in Chris' hand that his conviction waivers. She leans back against him, like he's her pillar. It's familiar and foreign all at once.

They'd sat like this for hours, staring at the waves on the white sand beaches of the Dominican during their honeymoon, then again watching over their newborn girl sleeping in her crib the night they brought her home. 

Chris has held Victoria when she needed his stability, his comfort, his love. It feels like a betrayal to hold her this same way now. 

"Chris." Her hand trembles beneath his. "Help me."

She needs him to be stronger than her for once in his life. But tightening his grip on the weapon that will kill his wife feels nothing like strength. 

"Now," she says, as her eyes flash golden. 

He's never felt more like a coward; the irony is that he feels no fear of the transformation taking over his wife. His fear is reserved for losing her.

He hesitates only a second because Victoria is clever and quick. If she reads him now, she'll gather the strength to finish herself off, no matter how much she claims to need him. 

So he moves fast, pitching the knife across the room, and whipping out the cuffs he keeps on his belt. He feels guilty that he's abused a rare moment of vulnerability -- that's something he's never done to Victoria in their twenty years of marriage. 

But he doesn't regret it when her arms are stretched above her head, and she's bound to Allison's headboard. Safe. 

She trashes against the bed enough that he has to straddle her. 

When she snarls, he presses his weight down on her, shushing gently. "Gerard," he whispers.

She scowls but seems to understand. Gerard's still around and right now Chris wants this to remain between them. 

The fact that Victoria doesn't shout for him is a good sign. "Thank you," Chris says. 

 

"You need to kill me." Her face is wolf, but her words, her voice, her conviction… It's all _Victoria_. Chris realizes how wrong Gerard was when he claimed Chris had already lost her. 

He shakes his head then kisses her cheek. "I won't." When she doesn't snap her jaws at him, he moves to the crease of her lips.

"You need to." She chokes on a sob.

"I'm not giving you up." Chest aching, he nips at her jaw and down her neck. He kisses her breast, taking comfort in her heartbeat. "We'll make this work."

"Don't let me become a _thing_." Tears in her eyes, she yanks at her cuffs, and the wood of the headboard groans. 

The moon's high. He can feel Victoria's body leaning towards it, but he can also see her relax, gain focus with his every gentle touch. He's already anchoring her and hope swells inside him. 

"You'll never be a _thing_." He lifts her top, kisses her belly, and she shivers. "You'll be Allison's mother," he says and unbuttons her slacks. "You'll be my wife."

She gasps as he noses her ginger curls. "I'll be dangerous."

Chris laughs and tugs her pants lower, then off. "My love, you've always been dangerous."

He kneels between his wife's thighs and she flashes her eyes at him. "I could snap your neck with my thighs now."

He hums, delighted. "I have no doubt you could've done that the very first time I was in this position." He strokes her legs in appreciation of their power, then buries his head between them and licks her wetness. 

He stops long enough to say, "You don't taste any different to me," and goes back for more. 

"Chris," she pleads, not for death this time.

He pumps his fingers into her, tonguing her clit in the way years of pleasing her have taught him. He knows her body; that hasn't changed. She's wild under his touch, unrestrained and beautiful in her feralness. He devours and worships her until his jaw aches and she's spent, boneless beneath him. 

He's still watching her later when they've moved back to their bed and she's resting peacefully on his chest.

Her brow furrowed, she whispers, "Allison--"

He kisses her forehead, stopping her before she can finish. "Allison will think you're the bravest woman she's ever known."

\-------------------------

69

 

“Just relax,” Scott’s voice was soft. Allison was straddling him where he sat on her bed, thighs warm against his skin. Scott was buried inside of her, forcing himself to keep still as she adjusted. Her nails were digging into his sides.

“I am relaxed.” She breathed out eyes closed.

Scott smiled, feeling the way her nails were growing into claws and ripping into his skin. It only hurt a little, healing as she soon as she pulled back. “I can see that.” He didn’t even try to keep the amusement out of his voice, the affection.

Her eyes opened, flashing yellow at him before settling into their normal shade of brown. 

__

_Allison’s breathe came in harsh pants, blood seeping through her hand from where she held it against her stomach._

_Scott pulled her into his arms, replaying in his mind the moment the sword went through her and back out. It couldn’t be taken back, it had happened. He could smell the blood in the air and knew there was already too much of it._

_“Did you find her,” her voice was barely a whisper “is Lydia safe?”_

_“She’s okay.” Scott reassured her, brushing the hair back from her face. Hand reaching for hers because he didn’t want her to be in pain, he didn’t want her to be dying in his arms._

_“Allison,” black veins crawled up his arm and he was surprised by how much it didn’t hurt, numbness taking over and seeping into him. He couldn’t deny what that meant. “Allison, I have to bite you.” His voice broke and he held her closer. “You’re going to die, it’s the only way. I have to bite you.”_

_There was blood on her lips and she stared up at him for an agonizing moment before pulling herself together, her breathing evening out. “Okay, okay do it.” Her voice was stronger than it had been a moment before and her hand slipped into his._

_Scott left the shift take over him, his eyes flashing red._

__

She groaned pulling off him and collapsing behind him “You know this used to be a lot easier?” 

“What,” Scott brushed his hand up her sides soothingly his voice playful “sneaking in a quickie while your dad wasn’t home?” 

“Yes,” she signed in frustration and Scott could still hear the way her heart hammered away, could smell her arousal in the air. He knew she could smell it too. “I should be able to have sex with my boyfriend without destroying my bed or god hurting him.” Her voice rose at that last part.

__

_“How do we know if it takes?” Scott asked softly remembering what had happened with Lydia. Allison was laid out in her bed, just as unconscious as she’d been after Peter had bit her. He was so afraid._

_“It took,” Chris looked determined “the fact that she’s alive means it took.” his eyes shifted to wear Derek leaned against the door and Derek nodded, reassuring him. Scott was taking it as a good sign that Chris wasn’t pointing a gun at him._

_He definitely did not look like he wanted to kill Scott for turning his only child into the very thing he hunted. If Scott looked away from Allison long enough he might have even looked a little relieved._

_Scott wanted to believe that, wanted to share the same faith Chris and Derek did that Allison was going to make it through this._

__

“I heal.” Scott offered brightly “And we can take it slow, I could go down on you again.”

Her dad wasn’t due back until late that night which meant Allison felt secure enough to be stripped bare in front of him. It meant he could see the blush that spread across her skin.

Before she could say something about how it was his turn Scott let her know “I enjoy doing it.” She laughed her hair falling over her shoulders and Scott reached to tuck a stray strand behind her ear. “It gets easier, you learn control.” 

She leaned into his touch; breathe picking up, her hand holding his against her face. “I didn’t know you had to control yourself that much with me.” She sounded guilty.

Scott wrapped his hand around the back of her neck, pulling her forward into a soft kiss. “Well now I don’t,” he let his nails lengthen against her skin “and you don’t have to either.” 

That night they might have destroyed the bed just a little bit.


	8. Group D (no warnings)

70

 **Notes:** Laura lives... And trying to matchmake Stiles and Derek, she doesn't mind when she ends up in the middle of it...

[](http://imgur.com/5OPwXcK)

\-------------------------

71

 

[](http://imgur.com/8D7J9oI)

\-------------------------

72

**Notes: Before Derek leaves Beacon Hills with Cora, Stiles comes to see him and something happens that neither expects.**

[](http://imgur.com/dE4zsEz)

\-------------------------

73

 **Notes:** The Sheriff never got reinstated after losing his job. Stiles finds other ways to help out with money.

[](http://imgur.com/m1TBlce)

\-------------------------

74

 **Notes:** Erica never died, and was held with prisoner by the Alpha Pack with Cora and Boyd. Cora convinces them to stay in Beacon Hills (and with her) after they escape, and Derek comes to regret not getting the loft better sound proofing.

[](http://imgur.com/eFPV5tv)

\-------------------------

75

 **Notes:** Alternative Pool Scene (2x04 Abomination)  
[](http://imgur.com/BmqCdYG)

\-------------------------

76

 **Notes:** Peter bit Stiles that first night, not Scott. After Derek kicks Isaac out, he moves in with his omega friend and the Sheriff. Stiles and Isaac get a lot closer.

[](http://imgur.com/4QxD73M)

\-------------------------

77

 **Notes:** What if Derek had decided to thank Stiles in a special way after he held him up for two hours in the pool?  
[](http://imgur.com/yxuyPWQ)

\-------------------------

78  
 **Notes:** Stiles accepts the bite from Peter. Derek becomes his Alpha and lover after he kills his uncle. 

 

[](http://imgur.com/8jKjkcy)

\-------------------------

79

 **Notes:** Jackson and Danny were always more than just friends.

[](http://imgur.com/NQzDoD3)

\-------------------------

80

 **Notes:** s2 Canon Divergence where Erica and Boyd are alive, everyone is pack and they bond emotionally and physically all with each other to get stronger. In other words gang band + puppy pile AU!

[](http://imgur.com/nLw3Rk2) [](http://imgur.com/Mt5FVzC) [](http://imgur.com/sWKFiiS) [](http://imgur.com/qhV5wwt)


End file.
